


dark switch

by CoraClavia



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s03e17 A Hundred Days, Episode: s03e18 Shades of Grey, Episode: s03e22 Nemesis, Episode: s04e01 Small Victories, Episode: s04e03 Upgrades, Episode: s04e04 Crossroads, Episode: s04e05 Divide and Conquer, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2019-10-19 06:08:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 23,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17595899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoraClavia/pseuds/CoraClavia
Summary: It happens so fast.





	1. unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> The Hundred Days-Shades of Grey arc is really sticking with me right now.

_Your hands found a dark switch in me  
That I didn’t know existed_

Snow Patrol

* * *

After a month, someone had moved the colonel’s truck back to his house.

Sam doesn’t know which poor SF got assigned to drive the battered old pickup. It must have been a strange feeling. No one even knew if the colonel was still alive, let alone coming back. There wasn’t really a protocol for how long an officer’s car sat in the parking garage before they gave him up as lost forever on another planet.

In the darker moments, Sam sometimes asks herself how long she would have kept working before giving up. Apparently, one month was the limit for the parking admins.

_What’s my limit?_

Looking back, she honestly doesn’t know.

Not that it matters.

And it’s not that she regrets those months of work. She did something good, something with incredible ramifications for the future of planetary security. Sam can still take pride in the purity of science, the simple satisfaction of hard work that solves a thorny problem.

Physics is clean. Precise. It only gets messy when applied to reality. And suddenly, her neat, tidy work was a matter of life and death.

When Janet asked her if there was a problem, she’d said _No_.

* * *

As soon as she hands in the bare minimum of paperwork - she’ll deal with everything else tomorrow - Sam hightails it to the locker room, intent on swapping her BDU’s for something less drab. She’s not really sure what time it is, and she doesn’t care. She’s beyond exhausted.

She shrugs on her jacket, shoves her wallet in her pocket, grabs her keys, and shuts her locker door. Janet had asked if she wanted to come over for dinner, but right now, Sam’s not up for it. She needs to go home. She needs to go home and not think about Stargates and work and science and a commanding officer who doesn’t seem like he wants to be on Earth anymore.

She shakes her head. _I’m just tired_. Everything will be better after a good night’s sleep.

Outside the locker room, she turns the corner to get to the elevators, but runs into a flustered-looking Daniel, with Colonel O’Neill following him. The colonel’s in his civvies, but Daniel’s still in BDU’s, a massive notebook tucked under one arm. He brightens when he sees her.

“Oh, hey, Sam.” He pushes his glasses up his nose. “Hey, can you do me a favor? I told Jack I’d drive him home, but I got pulled into a meeting with SG-4, and it’s going to be at least another hour. Could you take him?”

Rather than making a self-deprecating wisecrack, the colonel just watches her, his face unreadable. She can’t think of a single polite reason she could refuse, because _I really don’t want to_ would require more a more honest explanation than she can give.

Even to herself.

“Sure.”

“Thanks. I owe you.” Daniel blinks, like he’s finally focusing on her. “And hey, you should get home too. I know you’ve been working hard.”

She gives him a faint smile. “See you tomorrow.”

Daniel hustles off, leaving her alone with Colonel O’Neill, who hasn’t cracked a joke (at least, not that she’s heard) in three months, and it’s just all _wrong_.

She forces a smile. “Ready?”

He nods, not quite meeting her eyes. “After you, Carter.”

* * *

They’re almost to her car when she remembers - Daniel stopped at the colonel’s house a few weeks ago. He mentioned clearing out the fridge. The term “bio-hazard” was mentioned.

“Sir, would you like to stop at the grocery store? It’s on the way. I know Daniel cleaned out your fridge.”

He accepts hesitantly, but with the lack of surprise that tells her he knew he’d need to go, but he wasn’t going to ask. _That_ hurts. How uncomfortable is he with her, that he can’t ask a simple favor like that?

* * *

The colonel’s brisk about the groceries thing, just grabbing some staples, and before she knows it, they’re walking into his house with arms full of paper bags. And of course, she’s not just going to walk away without helping him put everything away, is she?

She doesn’t know how to feel.

This should be easy. It’s domestic. She knows his kitchen as well as he does, thanks to team nights. He hands over a jar of pasta sauce, she gives him the eggs. But it’s off. It doesn’t feel right.

There’s one brief moment as she puts away a box of cereal, stretching up on her toes to reach the top shelf, and turns back to find him looking at her, an odd expression on his face.

“What?”

He blinks, seems to snap out of whatever it was. “Nothing.”

It’s very obviously not nothing, but Sam’s starting to feel frayed, threadbare from the strain of trying to act normal around him, and she needs to be done. She needs to go. So she focuses on the work. Just a few more things to put away, then she can make her excuses.

It happens so fast.

One moment she’s helping him put away groceries, and then suddenly he’s kissing her.

It’s slow. Gentle. Perfect.

Sam’s frozen in shock for a split second, but instinct takes over and she melts against him, willing and easy. Trusting. 

A soft noise of pleasure escapes her, and his reaction is immediate.

He backs her up against the cabinets, and she’s pinned there, trapped against the hard, lean lines of his muscular frame. The impact jars them apart, and Sam catches her breath, her hands finding the edge of the counter behind her. His eyes are blazing, dark, fixed on her with an intensity she’s never seen before.

She’s flushed, hot, trapped between the counter and his body. After three months locked in a dark room, all alone, she feels buzzing and aware and _alive_. And now she’s tired and emotionally worn and just too weak to pretend she doesn’t want him.

There’s just a moment, a breath, and then he takes her face in his hands and kisses her _hard_ , desperate. There’s something deliberate about him, like he’s been thinking about this for as long as she has. Like he’s spent months working up the nerve to touch her.

He tilts her head back, kissing her more deeply, and his thigh slides between hers. She sinks down against him, the hard, muscular line of his leg putting pressure right where she needs it. She gasps at the sudden heat, and he bites at her lower lip, soothing the sting with his tongue. Her back arches, heat flaring under her skin as her body presses up against him.

When he finally lets go of her, takes a step back, Sam opens hazy eyes to find him staring at her with something she can’t figure out. Shock, yeah. He looks as shocked as she feels. But it’s more than that.

Sam swallows hard, trying to ignore his gaze flickering to her mouth.

“I should go.”

She doesn’t want to. But there’s something in his eyes - he’s never looked at her like this. Like he’s shocked at what he’s just done.

But he wants to keep going.

She all but bolts to her car, before she can turn around, walk back into his house, and see just what it is he wants to do with her.

Before she can say  _yes_.


	2. plot twist

_Who knew, when you brought me a storm,  
Who knew that I would like it?_

Snow Patrol

* * *

They need to talk.

After a restless night, Jack gets to Cheyenne Mountain early. No point in lying in bed when he can’t sleep.

He switches off the music in his truck, driving silently through the early morning light.

 _Get it together, O’Neill_.

He’s off-balance. He is. He’s never lost control like that before. Not with her.

It’s not that he’s not always been attracted to her. He’s not blind, after all. But there’s a hell of a big difference between finding a woman attractive and needing her so badly he pins her against the counter and devours her.

The tactile memory of her face in his hands, his tongue in her mouth, and soft hum as she moaned low in her throat, the heat as her body arched into his -

He shifts in his seat, willing away the phantom physical reaction.

Oh, she was into it, all right. She was completely on board. She wanted him to do whatever he was about to do to her.

And that’s the problem.

Because she trusts him, but he doesn’t trust himself.

* * *

After a leisurely breakfast in a sparsely-populated commissary, Jack decides it’s time he stopped trying to avoid Carter, and talk to her like an adult.

He doesn’t find her in the control room, but he does find Hammond. “Morning, General.”

Hammond turns. “Ah, Jack. I wasn’t expecting you in so early.”

“Yeah, well.” Jack shoves his hands in his pockets. “Still trying to get settled.”

“I’m glad you’re here. Could you come to my office? We need to talk.”

“Well, I was looking for Carter -”

“It’s important, Jack.”

Jack’s about to push, but the look on Hammond’s face stops him short.

Something’s definitely going on.

* * *

After what (almost) happened last night, Sam is determined to get some of her equilibrium back before she talks to the colonel, although she can’t help the somewhat mirthless smile when she considers the fact that last night his tongue was down her throat and his thigh was pressed between her legs, but it still feels too familiar to call him “Jack” in her own mind.

Her lab is quiet, peaceful, everything as it should be. A cardboard file box full of drafts and computer discs sitting beside the door is the only evidence of the three months of hell.

As fraught as those months were, as tense and dark, there was only one really bad night. She was alone - as usual - in her lab, frantically struggling with a series of force vectors that just didn’t make sense. It was three in the morning, she was stumped, and it had suddenly hit her, a baseball bat slammed into her lungs: if she couldn’t solve this, she’d never even know if he was alive.

She’d cried for half an hour.

Now it’s packed away, and she takes a deep breath, pushing it aside and booting up her computer.

They need to talk, but she has no idea what to say.

* * *

Jack walks out of Hammond’s office, shutting the door behind him, and stares at it, unseeing.

Massive change of plans.

He knows what he’s going to have to do. Step one of this secret assignment isn’t so bad: he’s never been a huge fan of the Tollans, so being an asshole to them won’t be much of a chore.

But step two is alienating SG-1, and that’s...complicated. Especially after Edora. _Especially_ after last night.

As he shoves his hands in his pockets and walks back to the office he prefers to pretend he doesn’t have, Jack finally admits to himself: in order to really sell this façade, he’s going to have to be the kind of person he wishes he wasn’t.

She’s never going to forgive him.

There’s one aspect of this godforsaken situation only that isn’t a disaster: technically, they didn’t do anything wrong. He was declared MIA, and the paperwork reinstating him was filed after close of business yesterday.

He only became Carter’s commanding officer again about an hour ago.

If he could bring himself to laugh, he would.


	3. it's worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you know how it’s been insanely cold in the upper Midwest this week? Yeah. It’s brutal.

When she gets to the briefing room, it’s the first time Sam has seen the colonel since he pinned her back against his kitchen cabinets and –

She’s not focusing on that.

He’s standing facing away from her, talking to Hammond by the window, so he doesn’t see her walk in.

Sam takes her usual seat, smiling faintly at whatever it is Daniel’s saying. The colonel got a little leaner on Edora. He’s muscular, and three months of physical labor left him a little tanner, a little more toned. The scruff is long gone, though. He must have shaved before leaving base last night. His face felt smooth when they were –

“Ah, Major.” The general catches sight of her. “There you are.”

“Good morning, General.”

Colonel O’Neill turns to look at her, and Sam can’t help the blush that warms her face.

His gaze flicks over her, but it’s quick. Guarded. “Carter.”

“Sir.”

He catches her eyes for a moment, but looks away, scuffing the floor with one boot, turning to resume his conversation with the general.

That was…not what she expected.

But, she considers, General Hammond is here. Daniel and Teal’C are here. It’s not like she expected him to walk up and kiss her again in the middle of the briefing room.

And judging from the shock on his face after they’d kissed, he was just as off-balance as she was last night. He _did_ spend months on another planet, not knowing if he’d ever get home.

Sam takes a breath.

“All right.” Hammond takes a seat and starts passing around paperwork. “I apologize for dragging you all back in less than a day after Colonel O’Neill is back, but we’ve gotten word that the Tollans have agreed to meet.”

Tollana. Well.

It could be worse, right?

* * *

It’s worse.

Sam doesn’t know what happened to Jack O’Neill between the night she kissed him and the day he walked out of a Tollan council meeting, ripped a device off the wall like it was cardboard, and marched back into the SGC like he didn’t just commit an interplanetary theft that could land him in prison.

She’s seen him pissed off. But this? This isn’t him, this flinty, stone-faced man with his jaw set tight and hard eyes.

The knot in her stomach gets tighter as she sits beside Daniel at the briefing table, holding the evidence of her commanding officer’s theft while the thief himself acts like it was a normal day at the office.

Dread rises up like acid in her throat as she exchanges uneasy looks with Daniel, because she has the distinct feeling that this is even worse than it seems.

* * *

So far, everything’s going exactly according to plan.

Jack really hates doing stuff like this.

He yells at Hammond, gets relieved of command, and ends up sent to the infirmary in what’s got to be record time, guarded by a disapproving Teal’ C.

Hammond calls him back to the office, and Jack was hoping against hope he could get through this without seeing her again, but hope is a real bitch, because he and Teal’ C pass Carter in the hallway.

He keeps his face blank, praying that she’ll get the hint, but Samantha Carter is entirely too earnest for her own good.

“Sir?”

_For God’s sake, can you please just ignore me?_

“What?” His voice comes out sharper then he intended, but it’s not like he’s worried about being nice to her right now.

“Is there anything I can do?”

 _When this is all over, try not to hate me_.

“About?”

That seems to throw her. “Well, sir, with respect, you aren’t exactly acting like yourself.”

“No, Carter. I haven't been acting like myself since I met you. _Now_ I'm acting like myself.”

Her face is frozen in shock, her blue eyes wide, and Jack makes himself turn away and keep walking, because it’s not enough to steal something. It’s not enough to be an asshole. He has to hurt her, because he needs her to give up on him.

He’s glad she had the wherewithal to leave his house that night. Because if they’d slept together, _then_ he’d done this, she would never forgive him.

* * *

SG-1 – what’s left of it, anyway – meets in the corner of the commissary.  

Mathematically speaking, they do have a quorum. But the empty fourth chair at the table sets everything askew.

“This is weird,” Daniel finally points out. “Something’s wrong.”

Teal’C nods. “Colonel O’Neill’s recent behavior is most uncharacteristic for him.”

Sam smiles faintly, but stays focused on her coffee cup.

“It just feels like we’re missing something.” Daniel shuffles his feet, shifts in his chair. “There’s something – I don’t know. There has to be something we don’t know.”

Sam can think of at least one thing Daniel and Teal’C don’t know.

She swallows. “So what do we do? – just walk up to him and ask what the hell’s going on?”

Teal’C lifts an eyebrow. “I see no reason not to.”

She blinks, turning to him. “I was joking.”

“Well – well, yeah, but – he’s got a point,” Daniel says. “I mean, honestly, what can it hurt?”

Sam groans internally. Great. Beautiful. _I should have figured._ “So are you volunteering?”

“Well –” Daniel pulls off his glasses and wipes them clean. He’s stalling. “Actually, Sam, I think it might be better if you -”

“No.”

Daniel blinks. “I just thought you might -”

“ _No._ ” She clenches her jaw. “I’m not going.”

Daniel eyes her curiously for a long moment, and her heart sinks. But there’s no way he could know, is there?

“Did Jack say something to you?”

“Daniel –”

“What did he say?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Daniel opens his mouth – he really doesn’t know what to let things go sometimes – but Teal’C shoots him a look, shakes his head. “If Major Carter says no, we must respect it.”

“Alright. Fine.” Daniel sighs. “I’ll do it.”

The three of them fall silent, Daniel picking at a bagel, Teal’C simply staring, Sam slowly drinking lukewarm coffee. Ever since they watched Jack O’Neill toss a grenade into three years of teamwork and trust, the mood has been surreal.

Daniel, being Daniel, finally speaks up. “Look, if he said something – honestly, I’m more than a little angry at him, too.”

“Colonel O’Neill has chosen his actions,” Teal’C says. “His lack of concern for this team is clear. Perhaps his time on Edora changed the way he views us.”

Sam takes in a shaky breath. Anger is one thing.

If it were just anger, it would be easier.

It’s humiliating to think that he _knows_ , now. That he knows how she feels in her weakest moments, how eagerly her body responds when he pins her down and gets demanding with her.

She trusted him. And he knows she wants him.

That’s the worst part.


	4. Jack does his job

In the end, Jack does his job.

Blending in with people like Harry Mayborne is easier than he thought. In a way, Jack knows, it’s like being a teenager: he’s pissed off, irritated, impatient, and willing to ignore rules to do what he wants to.

Mayborne is what Jack might have turned into once, a long time ago.

So it’s easy to convince him.

* * *

Jack’s aware that the news he’s “retiring” to Edora, presumably forever, will be taken by most of the SGC as confirmation that he never wanted to come back to Earth in the first place.

It’ll be taken by Carter as something much worse.

If he’d had any idea the nightmare that was waiting for him in the form of this undercover op, he would never have kissed her in the first place. The timing couldn’t have been worse.

Hell, he shouldn’t have kissed her anyway. He knows that. But there was just something about her, the combination of strength and vulnerability he knows so well, and he couldn’t help the overwhelming, desperate urge to kiss her. And when she responded so willingly, so soft, so pliant, he just sort of…snapped.

As he grabs the few things he’s taking with him, Jack forces his mind back to the task at hand. The better he does his job, the sooner this will be over.

It’s dizzying, turning from three months of pastoral farmhand labor to an interplanetary espionage plot. He’s no saint, but least on Edora, he had the option of being a decent guy.

Daniel, Teal’C, Hammond, and even Janet are in the Gate room when Jack walks up the ramp. Edora lies on the other side.

He doesn’t know if Carter’s watching or not. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t acknowledge his former teammates, just walks through the Gate without a backwards glance.

* * *

Sam hovers in the control room, watching Jack O’Neill walk through the Gate to Edora, away from her forever.

When the wormhole closes behind him, she turns and flees to the comfort of her silent, empty lab before anyone tries to talk to her.

* * *

Makepeace is perfectly civil and reasonable.

She hates it.

But she knows she has to take initiative in keeping SG-1 in some kind of workable harmony. Teal’C is too dignified to be openly hostile, but he’s also too honest to pretend he has a great deal of respect for Makepeace. And Daniel…well. The good thing about Daniel – his earnestness – is also the bad thing about Daniel. He’s never been good at hiding his feelings.

Despite the sick feeling in her stomach that hasn’t really abated since she watched Jack O’Neill leave without a real goodbye, Sam knows the importance of holding the team together. They have a real capability to do good, and right now, that’s the only source of comfort she can find.

It’ll get easier with time, she knows. Teams have to gel, and everyone deserves a chance.

It’s not Makepeace’s fault.

* * *

Mayborne’s rebels are scrappy, determined kids who are almost too young to know better. Jack doesn’t hate them. They’re not beyond saving.

(But seriously. Stealing _Asgardian_ tech? – off planets they know are under Asgard protection? It’s a whole new level of stupid.)

When Newman mentions a mole on one of the SG teams, Jack breathes an internal sigh of relief. _Finally_. They’re getting somewhere. Hammond was particularly anxious about this, and the fact that they’re telling him about it so quickly is a good sign. If Mayborne doubted his loyalty at all, they’d never have spilled anything about their guy on the inside.

Volunteering to deliver the stolen tech himself is a risk – he doesn’t want to appear too eager – but no one bats an eyelash, so Jack grabs the Asgardian enemy-zapper and heads through the Gate.

As it turns out, he barely has time to hide the thing before the Gate starts to power up behind him. Jeez.

 _Cutting it a little close there, Mayborne_.

From his hiding spot, Jack watches as SG-1 comes through the wormhole. Great. Just great. It _would_ be SG-1.

When Carter appears, though, he can’t suppress the sudden, involuntary reaction, the tightening in his chest. He’s seen her like this – fatigues, cap, gear – more times than he can count, but right now it’s agonizing, because as far as she knows, he’s an asshole who took advantage of her, screwed over the entire team, then turned around and marched off to roll into bed with a woman he’s known for a few months.

The sense memories flooding over him are sharp and vivid and entirely unhelpful. He’s here to do a job; this is not the time or place to be remembering the soft, supple curves of her body against his, the heat of her mouth, the little hum of pleasure that escaped her when he bit her lip, the tight, hot pressure of her thighs pressing –

He grits his teeth.

 _Not now_.

It’s almost a relief when Jack sees Makepeace go for the stolen tech he’s just hidden there. Not that he would have suspected anyone on SG-1. Teal’C is too honorable. Daniel is the worst liar in the galaxy. And possibly several others. And Carter – she’s too fiercely, obstinately straightforward to take the cheater’s way out of anything.

But this is what he needed: the name.

SG-1 leaves, and Jack takes a deep breath, dialing the coordinates back to Mayborne’s base.

Almost done.

* * *

They’re barely back through the Gate when Hammond marches into the Gate room with what looks like an entire platoon of SF’s, armed to the teeth. Sam frowns, looking back at Daniel and Teal’C; they look as confused as she feels.

Makepeace cocks his head. “Ah, General? Something wrong?”

“Stay put for now, SG-1,” Hammond orders them. “We’ve got a few loose ends to tie up.”

Behind them, the Gate rumbles to life again. “Incoming wormhole.” Harriman’s voice sounds hollow over the Gate room speakers. “Receiving Colonel O’Neill’s IDC.”

Sam freezes.

_But he’s never coming back._

“Open the iris,” Hammond says.

“Ah – General?” Daniel’s voice is a shade higher-pitched than usual. “What’s going on?”

Hammond turns back to them. “Well, that’s going to take some explaining. But rest assured, you’ll get all the answers.”

As if on cue, Colonel O’Neill emerges from the shimmering blue surface. Sam swallows hard.

And then someone else comes through, and another person, and another, and she and the rest of SG-1 are left to stare.

* * *

Jack cuffs Makepeace’s wrists with a particular sense of satisfaction. Trying to use SG-1 to steal stuff? What an asshole.

He probably doesn’t even use beer to grill.

Chancellor Travell walks in, and as Hammond explains the whole plot to a bewildered Daniel, Teal’C, and Carter, Jack lets out a sigh of relief. If he never has to do this again, it’ll be too soon.

But given that it saved Earth’s alliances with the Tollans, the Nox, and the Asgard, he can’t bring himself to deny the fact that he had to do it.

As the scope of the situation becomes apparent, Carter’s look goes from thunderstruck to wary, and for the first time since he deliberately pushed her away, she actually speaks to him.

“So you set that whole thing up on Tollana in the hopes that the mole would think you were one of them and approach you?”

Her voice is clear, even, but her eyes are blazing as she stares at him, and Jack can hear what she’s very pointedly not asking in front of everyone else.

_So how much of this was a lie?_


	5. team night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for taking the time to leave kind words - I really appreciate it, and I'm glad you're enjoying it.

Inviting SG-1 over for a team night is a risky move, but Jack doesn’t know what else to do. He needs to repair the damage, and he’s learned anything, it’s that most people respond better when offered food.

Teal’C will understand, he knows. Teal’C knows there are times when the greater good demands a level of sacrifice. And Daniel will have some misgivings, but he’s a good friend. He’ll see the necessity in the whole plan.

Carter, though?

She has every right to tell him exactly where to shove it.

So it’s a team night – a whole team night. Officially. But after what happened in his kitchen, and what was about ninety seconds away from happening in his bedroom, he’s fairly sure that Carter will be more comfortable in his presence with other people around as a buffer.

Hell, he’s not even sure she’ll show up.

But she surprises him: a few minutes after Daniel and Teal’C walk in, Jack’s in the kitchen, fetching beer out of the fridge, and he hears her voice, clear and calm.

He grabs another bottle and heads for the living room.

She looks soft. Casual. Her blonde hair is tousled, and she’s wearing jeans and a simple black shirt that clings to her body, showing him the curves he doesn’t usually see under bulky Air Force uniforms.

He clears his throat, and she looks up from chatting with Daniel.

“Evening, Carter. Glad you could come.”

“Sir.”

After just a second’s hesitation, she takes the bottle he offers her. Her fingers brush lightly over his in a way that can’t possibly be accidental, and he wonders if she feels the same sudden, shocking electricity he does.

“Thanks.”

Is it his imagination, or does her voice sound breathier than usual?

Like a bedroom voice.

Jack clears his throat. Gotta keep it together.

“Sure.”

* * *

Daniel and Sam take over setting up the table and putting things out, and at a loss for anything to do, Teal’C ends up on the back porch watching Jack pour beer over the chicken.

“Looking good, huh?” Inane talk about grilling, during grilling, makes grilling work better. That’s the way it is in the O’Neill family.

“I am sure the food will be excellent.” Teal’C settles in a deck chair. “As it has been in the past.”

Teal’C does not really do much in the way of inane talk.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

Jack pauses, arranging his already-arranged grilling tools. “This whole – undercover thing. Are you guys…ticked off at me?”

Teal’C thinks for a long moment.

“I believe we all understand why you did what you did, O’Neill. It served a greater purpose.”

“Really?”

He knows Teal’C is right. But when he saw the shock and hurt in Carter’s eyes as he pretended kissing her meant nothing, well. It didn’t feel nearly so noble.

“If any of us had been put in your place,” Teal’C says simply, “we would have done the same, regardless of personal sacrifice.”

That’s true. If nothing else, everyone on SG-1 knows the importance of the big picture. “But – no one has a grudge? I was pretty awful to Daniel. And – Carter.”

Jack stumbles a little over the end, but Teal’C was in the hallway when he told her _I haven’t been acting like myself since I met you_. Teal’C may not understand exactly why it was such a cruel thing to say, but he saw the way she reacted.

After a moment’s contemplation, Teal’C tilts his head. “You must speak with them to be certain. But if we believed you beyond friendship, we would not be here right now.”

Hope flares up in Jack’s chest. “It’s not just for the food, then?”

“Your cooking is not that good, O’Neill.”

* * *

The evening is cool and breezy, and after dinner, they all end up in lawn chairs around his firepit.

This feels more familiar than anything. How many times have they sat around a crackling campfire on another planet, talking about anything and everything, looking up at whatever new stars they’ve found that day?

The mood is light, and he starts to think maybe this whole thing might be okay.

“For what it’s worth –” Jack looks around – “I’m sorry I had to be such a jerk.”

“It’s okay.” Daniel shrugs. “Honestly, until the end, I was starting to worry that you’d completely lost your mind. It just didn’t seem like you.”

“It is true, O’Neill,” Teal’C agrees. “Your behavior seemed deeply uncharacteristic.”

“Ah.” Jack shifts uneasily in his seat. Maybe he’s not as good an undercover operative as he used to be.

“You helped a lot of people.”

Carter’s voice is so soft he almost misses it. But all three men turn to find her curled up in her chair, one knee pulled up to her chest. She always gets chilled before they do, and right now she’s wrapped in a blanket from his living room couch. She’s watching the firelight with a drowsy look in her eyes, like she’s thinking about something far, far away.

“I didn’t understand,” she continues. “But knowing why – it makes more sense.”

She meets his eyes, and he wonders what’s going on behind hers, what the view looks like, how his apparent rejection of her feels now that she’s thinking about the primitive civilizations whose safety was in jeopardy.

“If they’d given me a choice, believe me, I would have told you.”

He says it to all of them, but he’s really saying it to her. She regards him with wide eyes, clear and bright, as the flickering firelight dances over her face and sets her hair alight.

Does she understand what really happened? – or has she just decided not to hold it against him?

Not for the first time, Jack wishes he could hear what she’s thinking right now.

“I believe,” Teal’C points out, “it would be appropriate to celebrate our reconciliation with brief words, and a ritual consumption of alcohol. Is this not customary?”

Jack thinks for a minute, trying to translate, but Carter figures it out first. “You mean a toast?”

“Precisely.”

Jack grins. “Who wants to do the honors?”

“To SG-1.” Daniel raises his beer bottle. “The way it was meant to be.”

* * *

If Jack was surprised she showed up in the first place, he’s even more surprised when Daniel and Teal’C leave, and she’s still here.


	6. what do you want, Carter?

She should probably leave. But she doesn’t.

Sam watches the door shut behind Daniel, then turns back to Colonel O’Neill. He looks less casual than he’s trying to, despite the faded jeans, worn-out flannel shirt, even the soft dusting of scruff on his jaw.

She takes a deep breath. “Can we talk?”

He nods slowly. “I think we should.”

She’s been silently mulling this over for hours, wondering how to approach this conversation. Looking at him now, with his open posture, the expectant look on his face, she thinks, why not just be direct?

“When did it start?”

“The next day.” His voice is very clear. “The next morning. I was looking for you when Hammond called me into his office.”

Sam lets out a long breath, feeling some of the icy tension melt from her shoulders. “So it wasn’t –”

“No. Just really bad timing.”

She blinks, and a sudden rush of heat flushes her cheeks as it hits her: the truth is simple.

Jack O’Neill kissed her because he wanted to.

“I’ve done some pretty bad things undercover,” he says, and she wonders just how many of them still haunt him when he’s lying awake at night. She knows how much of his file is redacted, and whatever she imagines, the truth of those missions is probably worse. “But there’s a line for me. And I wouldn’t do that to you.”

 _This_ is the Jack O’Neill she knows. Under his wry, self-deprecating sense of humor, there’s a steel core, dark and unflinching.

“I never wanted to hurt you.” He sighs. “If I’d had any idea what was going to happen, I wouldn’t have kissed you.”

“But you still would’ve wanted to.”

He keeps his gaze trained on the floor, like he can somehow control everything if he can just hold onto his focus. “Yeah.”

“Like you want to right now?”

He freezes, tension running through his body. “Carter –”

His voice is low. Gravelly. She ignores the warning in it, because for once in her life, she’s feeling reckless. This is what they usually pointedly ignore, and he’s trying to push her away again, but she takes a step closer.

“Don’t lie to me. Not again.”

His eyes meet hers, and she swallows hard. His eyes are dark, blazing with intensity, and if she’d thought it was a one-time thing, some kind of fluke, that delusion is long gone.

“You’re out of line, Major.”

“And you’re not?”

She takes another step towards him. The air between them is crackling, her skin flushed and buzzing. He’s taller than she is, and there’s something about his physical presence, tall and forbidding, that draws her. It’s a gravitational pull, as powerful as it is inevitable.

She catches the quick flicker of his gaze dropping to her mouth. Her heart is racing in her chest, her breath shallow, her whole body a live wire.

If she didn’t trust him, she’d be frightened. But the heat coursing through her is delicious. Overwhelming. Dangerous.

Intoxicating.

“What do you want, Carter?”

“You already know.”

His eyes flash, and Jack closes the space between them in a single step. Her back hits the wall behind her, and before she can do more than gasp, he’s kissing her.

His kiss is deliberate. Demanding. She sinks into his embrace, letting him take control. He doesn’t hesitate, his hands on her hot and sure and a little rough.

She slides her hands up his shoulders, toying with the short hairs at the nape of his neck, but he stops her. His fingers tighten around her wrists, pinning them to the wall beside her head. Sam gasps into his mouth, arching against him, but his hips are pressing into hers, tight and hot, and she’s trapped. It’s overstimulation, the rasp of his stubble against her skin, the sting of his teeth, the lean muscles of his arms flexing against her.

Something settles in her chest, something heavy and hot, and she lets out a shuddering breath, something like a whimper. The little hint of _something_ she’s been trying to ignore for so long is out, run wild, a blazing inferno that catches her body alight. And apparently it’s not so one-sided, because he’s kissing her like he fully intends to spend the night doing it, while she’s about one kiss away from begging him to walk her down the hall and throw her down onto his bed.

She’s so wrapped up, so drugged and trembling, that it takes her a moment to realize he’s eased his bruising grip on her. His kisses are gentler, his hands coming to cradle her chin with a tenderness that makes her dizzy.

This is different. It’s slow. Careful.

He steals one last kiss but doesn’t pull away, pressing his forehead to hers. Sam tries to steady her breathing. She can feel his heart beating under her hand. It’s racing, just like hers is.

“Sam.”

His voice is nothing but a hoarse whisper, but the warmth of his breath mingles with hers, and it’s as intimate as she knows they absolutely shouldn’t be.

Sam shuts her eyes, desperate to focus, even through the lingering hum of arousal singing in her veins.

“I don’t know what to say,” she murmurs.

She feels his thumb brush lightly over her lips.

“Neither do I.”


	7. it stays there

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to northernexposure for bouncing ideas around with me! I appreciate the help. This fic has taken on a life of its own.

Jack doesn’t know how, but he manages to take a few deep breaths, center himself, stop before he lets the flood of arousal take complete control.

“I need you to know –” he murmurs – “I’m sorry. I was never trying to use you.”

“I know.” Her eyes are shut, her lips flushed and swollen, and it’s all he can do not to lean in and kiss her again. 

“Sam.” He caresses her cheek, watching her hazy eyes flutter open at his touch. “You know how I feel. It’s whatever you say. Whatever you want. But it’s not just – this isn’t just a fling. Not for me.”

Carter takes a deep breath to steady herself, and he can see the wheels turning in her brain, the moment she remembers all the myriad reasons they can’t do this. Jack swallows hard, telling himself this is the right thing. It is.

 “You’re right.” Her hands flex lightly on his shoulders, though she doesn’t quite let go. “I know you’re right.”

Jack knows he should put some space between them, try to regain his equilibrium, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He brushes his thumb over the line of her jaw, watching the soft shudder that passes through her.

“We can’t.” Her voice is just barely more than a whisper. He nods slowly. They have too much to lose. _She_ has too much to lose.

“Does this stay between us?” Jack asks carefully. They’re both so far past ‘appropriate’ that the line is a distant memory, but if nothing else, he needs to make sure the decision is really hers.

She nods. “And – if we think we do need to talk about it – we can.”

“Right.” He knows they can’t. Because if they talk about it, _really_ talk about it, they’re going to have to acknowledge the fact that this isn’t just about throwing her down on his bed and making her scream his name. If it were just physical, that would be one thing.

But he gives in to one last impulse, leaning forward to steal one last kiss. It’s soft. Gentle. Tender.

This is the real danger. The thing they’re still not going to admit.

When he finally takes a step back, Carter’s a mess, her cheeks flushed, her hair mussed. She looks dazed. She looks completely, thoroughly kissable.

 _We’re leaving this here_.

“I’m going to go, sir.”

He nods, shoving his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching for her.

* * *

It stays there.

And it’s okay.

* * *

It’s on the tip of his tongue to invite her to join him for a relaxing few days of sitting beside a fish-free pond in northern Minnesota.

After all, he’s brought friends along before. But the only woman he ever brought up there was already his wife. And the cabin’s secluded. Hard to find. Easy to miss.

There’d be nothing to stop them.

So despite the fact that she’s doing science during her break from science, and the fresh air would be good for her, Jack just nods, smiles, and tells her to enjoy herself.

But then again, Thor’s timing is impeccable, and Jack finds himself in space before he has a chance to change his mind, walk back into the lab, and ask her if she wants to come and spend some quality time pretending to fish with him.

* * *

Their week on P4X-234 is less of a danger than Sam thought it might be.

Of course, they’re not alone. Teal’C is there, and except for Daniel’s stash of allergy medicine and insatiable curiosity, it’s like a team mission, just easier. And less busy. The planet is balmy, and it really feels like the vacation she never gets around to taking.

There are moments, though.

Soft looks. Little smiles across the campfire.

She wakes up early one morning, just as the pale sun is starting to warm up the greenery; the Colonel’s still asleep, but Teal’C nods as she walks past, then goes back to banking the fire.

They’ve found a quick-moving stream near the little sheltered hollow where they’ve been sleeping, and after a look around to make sure neither of the guys has followed her, Sam strips off her clothes, sets them on a rock, and slips into the water.

She’s still looking forward to a nice hot shower back on Earth, but these cool morning dips in the water have a particular charm. It’s chilly, but it’s clear and clean. Teal’C brought some odds and ends back from Chulak, and the thick, viscous version of soap they have has a pleasant, minty scent.

She rinses out her hair, splashing water over her face, and as she turns to reach for her towel, she sees him.

The colonel’s up in the trees, carrying his own towel. He looks up just a split second after she does, and his eyes go wide.

Even at this distance, the desire on his face is unmistakable. She’s in water up to her collarbone, but she feels totally bare, utterly vulnerable, like he can see every inch of her body.

“Sorry.” His voice comes out rough, and he clears his throat. “Didn’t realize you were here.”

She’s a heartbeat away from saying _Why don’t you come join me?_ He could toss his clothes next to hers. Slide into the water with her. Rub soap over her shoulders and back and then slide his hands -

“I’ll be done in a minute.”

“Sure.”

He disappears back through the trees, and Sam lets out the breath she’s been holding.

* * *

And then one day, she finds herself staring through a forcefield, watching him desperately pounding at a control panel with the strength of utter hopelessness.

“Sir, just _go_.”

“ _No!”_

Her eyes sting, because the thought of him dying for no _reason_ is unbearable, and as loyal as she knows he is, if he would just _leave_ , she could at least take comfort in that for whatever moments she has left.

“Jack.” Her voice cracks. _“Please_. Please go.”

The clanking of serpent guards is getting louder, and she searches for his eyes, trying to make him understand. _Please don’t stay here and watch them kill me. I don’t want you to see it_.

Even as she’s trying to catch her breath, tell him _it’ll be okay_ , _it’ll be fine_ , or maybe just swear at him until he goes, the ground rumbles, sending them both sprawling. The forcefield drops, and they run. They don’t stop running until they’re outside, out of danger, and for the moment, she doesn’t have time to think about the fact that he was prepared to die there with her, simply because he refused to leave her alone.

* * *

They don’t talk on the way back to the Gate.

They don’t talk as Janet checks them out in the infirmary. They answer Hammond’s questions separately.

Jack’s rattled, himself, but he doesn’t know what to make of Carter’s response. She’s been quiet ever the moment she pleaded with him to leave her there to die. It still sends a chill down his spine. But he doesn’t push. They’ll talk when they need to talk.

He’s only been home for a few minutes when there’s a knock at the door.


	8. inevitable

He opens the front door to find Samantha Carter on his front porch, arms folded over her chest.

“Carter.”

“You should have left me.”

Jack steps aside. Not really a conversation for the neighbors. “Come in.”

The door shuts behind her, and she turns to face him again. She’s angry, but it’s brittle. There’s something else there, something she’s trying desperately not to let out, and suddenly he realizes with blinding clarity: this is where it was always heading.

“I _told_ you to leave.”

He takes a step towards her, because there’s gravity between them, and even though she’s angry, he can see the desperation in her eyes.

“It wasn’t your call.”

Jack takes another step, and she raises her hand, presses against his chest. He grabs her wrist, and her reaction is unmistakable, the current of tension that runs through her. Her pupils are dilated, her breath shallow, and arousal rolls off her in waves.

“You should have left,” she says again, but her voice is breathless. Softer. She’s trying to hold onto her anger, but he can feel it melting into something different, something liquid and hot and dangerous.

“Never gonna happen.”

He eases his grip on her, tracing his thumb gently over the fine bones of her wrist, and that’s when he sees her gaze drop to his mouth.  
  
She’s on him in a second, and before he can react, she’s kissing him like she never wants to stop. There’s no hesitation. She drags her fingers through his hair, teasing the short strands at the nape of his neck, and he groans. Her tongue is hot on his lips, and when he kisses her back, slow and deliberate, she lets out a soft whimper that sets his blood on fire.

Jack slides her jacket off her shoulders. It hits the ground somewhere nearby, but he ignores it, tugging at the hem of her shirt, sliding his hands underneath it to find smooth, warm skin. She gasps at the touch, her fingers flexing on his shoulders.

It’s different this time. It’s deliberate and unbearably hot and completely, utterly inevitable.

His body is starting to tighten, his blood swiftly heading south. She manages to free his shirt, and as she breaks the kiss long enough to drag it up over his head, Jack starts walking her away from the door, down the hallway.

* * *

By the time Sam realizes they’re in his bedroom, her shirt is long gone. His hand slides down her back, over the curve of her ass, and when he squeezes, she arches up on her toes, gasping into his mouth.

She just can’t stop _touching_ him.

She’s working at the button on his jeans, but it takes a moment to realize why she’s having trouble.

Her hands are shaking.

Her heart is pounding against her ribs, and as she tries to catch her breath, it’s all too much. There was a moment, back there behind that forcefield, when she looked him in the eye and knew it was all over. The words _I love you_ were caught in her throat, and she was a split second away from confessing it to the man she’d never get to be with.

But now she’s here with him. It’s real. And she can’t stop trembling.

As she tries to slow her breathing, Sam realizes – he knows. He understands.

Jack takes her hand in his, smoothing his fingers over hers, massaging the delicate lines on her palm. His eyes are fixed on hers, and she knows: he’s asking. _You okay?_ He’s careful with her. Even here, now, he’s making sure they’re on the same page.

She can feel it pouring through her body, warming her blood, singing in her skin, the pure, clear light of affection, and it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Sam nods, her eyes on his.

But instead of reaching for the clasp of her bra, sliding his hands into her jeans, he’s still holding her hand. He raises it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm before letting it go.

“Jack?” It’s barely a whisper that escapes her, but his name, so rare across her lips, feels as intimate as anything they’re doing.

He settles one hand at the nape of her neck, warm and comforting, and kisses her long and slow. The gentleness in his touch is blinding, and Sam lets out a breath, reaching to grip his shoulders as he kisses her mouth, her cheek, trails kisses down the line of her jaw, flicks his tongue over her throat.

He’s taking his time.

When he pulls back, smoothing her hair from her face, Sam slips two fingers under the waistband of his jeans, watching his eyes go dark.

“Come here.” She tugs him closer.

Lies back on his bed, pulls him down over her, and gives in.


	9. in the morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic keeps becoming longer than I think it's going to be. As usual, I blame Polly Lynn, as I am sure she is using some kind of ghastly dark magicks on me.

Sam wakes sometime in the cool grey light before dawn.

She turns to look beside her – _ow_. Oh. She bites her lip. She’s sore. The ache in her legs is a sudden, sharp reminder of just exactly how she ended up in this bed. And who’s beside her.

How many times has she shared a tent with him offworld? It’s not the first time she’s woken to see him beside her.

Jack is still peacefully asleep, one arm behind his head. The comforter is bunched low over his hips, giving her full view of his bare chest, the muscles in his arms, the sparse dusting of dark hair over the tapered vee of his lower abs, leading down to –

She flushes hotly. She knows exactly what’s down there now, and, well.

He’s got nothing to be ashamed of.

Sam slips out of bed and tiptoes into the bathroom, shutting the door as quietly as possible before turning on the shower.

As the water heats up, she steals a glance in the bathroom mirror, drawing in a sharp breath.

 _Oh_.

Her mouth is still flushed and pink, and her fair skin is dotted with marks. Unmistakable hickeys on her neck. Patches of rash from his stubble on her chin, her throat. Her breasts. Her thighs.

She meets her own eyes as steam starts to drift into the air, and even now, just looking at the evidence of last night scattered over her skin, her heart beats a little faster, her cheeks warm. She’d never let herself wonder about what it would be like with him – told herself for a long time it was nothing, just a harmless crush – but here, now, the sensory details are still so vivid that she’s blushing in the privacy of the bathroom.

The hot water feels good on her sore muscles. It’s been a long, _long_ time since she’s had a night that left her so physically spent, and she lets out a long breath, hissing at the deep ache in her hip flexors.

After the first round, she hadn’t realized she’d be ready again so quickly. It must have been, what, three in the morning?

She’s not sure who woke up first, but one thing led to another, and she was straddling his hips, clutching his shoulders, pleading incoherently. He pushed himself up to catch her mouth with his, and then it was total sensory overload as she shuddered and collapsed on his chest, her muscles warm and liquid and aching.

 _Totally worth it_.

Sam rests her head against the shower wall, letting the water sluice over her body.

If anything surprised her, it was how attentive he was. Not that she’d expected him to be halfhearted or careless in bed. But she’d never realized just how patient Jack O’Neill could be. When he’s determined to finish something, he’s utterly single-minded, and having all that concentration, that intensity, focused on her – it was overwhelming.

She washes quickly with his soap, her mind racing. She knows they’ve made a dangerous decision. There’s no way around it; as consensual as it was, she’s still slept with her commanding officer. Air Force regulations don’t vanish just because they’ve been through life-and-death situations together.

She trusts him. She knows he trusts her. And even if they shouldn’t have done this, even if she’s told herself over and over that he’s off limits, she can’t bring herself to regret it. Not when she remembers the gentleness in his eyes, the reverence in the way he kissed her body until she came apart underneath him.

She reaches for a towel, wrapping it around herself. It smells like him. Water drips on the mat under her feet, and she stops to consider. Her clothes – they’re in a few places, actually. She bites her lip, wondering if she should try to retrieve them quietly.

A tap at the door interrupts her thought process, and she starts, instinctively clutching the towel to her chest. _A little late for that, Sam._

“Carter?”

“Yeah?”

The door creaks open slightly. “Can I come in?”

It’s not like there’s anything he hasn’t seen now.

“Sure.”

He opens the door all the way, and she catches her breath. He’s pulled on a pair of sweatpants, but no shirt, and his hair is sticking every which way. He looks adorable and sleep-rumpled and still a little groggy, and after last night, her body’s reaction is undeniable.

He’s holding a bathrobe. “Here.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Sam turns, dropping the towel. He gently slips his robe over her shoulders, and Sam relishes the soft, fluffy warmth. It’s deep wine-red and plush and it smells like him. “Thanks.”

When she turns back, wrapping the robe around herself, he’s watching her with a hesitant look, like he’s checking himself. Like he’s trying to give her space. “You all right?”

“Yeah.” She feels herself blushing. “Just – a little sore.”

He can’t quite hide a smug look at that, and it’s so purely Jack O’Neill that she smiles. Good to know some things don’t change.

“I’m gonna go start coffee.” He motions over his shoulder, and it’s actually kind of endearing that he’s gesturing where the kitchen is. As if she doesn’t already know. “Should be ready soon.”

“Okay.”

He grabs a shirt and disappears into the hallway, and she steps out of the bathroom to find her clothes on the bed, neatly folded. He’s even set her shoes beside the door, her socks on top of them.

She sits down on the edge of the bed beside her clothes, taking in a long breath.

* * *

Jack looks up to find her walking into the kitchen, dressed, hair still damp. She looks the same as she always does, bright-faced and pretty, and he has to remind himself to push down the wave of attraction. She’s in shape; he’s always known that. But now that he’s spent the night learning her entire body, strong and slim and supple, all soft curves and lean muscles, his physical reaction to her is immediate.

Last night was incredible.

“Here.” He hands her a cup of coffee, watching her take a cautious sip and smile contentedly as she discovers he’s already doctored it the way she likes it. Carter’s never really happy until she’s had her morning coffee.

“Thanks.”

He pops bagels in the toaster as she pulls out the cream cheese and jam from his fridge. It feels effortless; he leans around her to grab knives, she pulls plates out of the cupboard, and they eat breakfast at his kitchen table.

Jack watches her sip her coffee calmly, licking cream cheese off her finger, and he knows with absolute certainty that he wants to eat breakfast with her every day. Just like this. It’s been a long, long time since he felt so content, and until now, he hadn’t realized just how much he wanted it.

He sets his coffee cup down. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“What changed?”

She cocks her head. “What do you mean?”

“We both knew there’s always been this – whatever it is – between us. We’ve been at that point before. But we never ended up in bed. Till now.” He shrugs. “Something was different this time.”

Her eyes go soft at that, and for a second he wonders if he’s overstepping.

“I thought I was going to die.” She shakes her head slowly. “And the only thing I could think of – the only thing I would regret – it was you.”

He remembers that moment as vividly as when it happened. The crackling of the shield, the panicked, sickening fear thrumming in his veins. The tears in her eyes. The clanking footsteps of guards coming closer, marking certain death for her, and nothing he could do to stop it.

“I wanted you to leave,” she says softly.

“I know.” If it had been him trapped behind that forcefield, he’d have ordered her to leave him in an instant. And she wouldn’t have even considered obeying.

“So what now?” She curls her fingers around her coffee cup. “We’re emotionally compromised.”

“We already were.” Probably longer than either of them realized it.

* * *

A glance at the clock shows Sam it’s later than she’d realized. She winces. “I should get going.”

“Back to work?”

“I have a meeting with the technicians later this morning.” She looks down at herself. “I need to change.”

And shower again, because she can’t walk into Cheyenne Mountain smelling like Jack O’Neill.

He walks her to the front door, watching as she shrugs on her jacket and pulls out her car keys. “Talk to you later?”

Sam nods. “Yeah.”

She reaches for the doorknob, but something stops her. He’s watching her with a carefully neutral expression, but she knows better. He might be good at hiding his feelings, but he’s not quite that good.

Before she can stop herself, she turns back and kisses him soundly.

His reaction is instantaneous, his hands coming to her waist. He kisses her back long and slow and deep, and for a moment, she wants to grab his hand and pull him right back down the hallway.

When she pulls away, she’s breathing hard. “ _Oh_.”

“You should probably go,” he murmurs into her ear. “Or else I’m taking you right back to bed.”

She steals one more kiss and finally makes herself leave.


	10. looking normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Companion to 4x04, Crossroads.

It doesn’t really hit Sam, not entirely, until she’s getting dressed to head for Cheyenne Mountain.

She’s worn BDU’s for so long that getting dressed is automatic. She doesn’t really think about it, just tugs her shirt over her head, tucks it in, reaches for her dogtags. Uniforms make everything simpler. She usually appreciates this. But now there’s a cognitive dissonance she can’t quite shake. She’s a good officer. She’s a disciplined scientist. And now she’s holding onto a secret that could sink both of them.

When she glances in the mirror, though, she sees it: her uniform shirt doesn’t quite cover the darkest marks on her neck.

At a loss for what else to do, she digs out concealer and dabs it carefully over the broken blood vessels, hiding the visible evidence of what she let Jack O’Neill do to her last night.

* * *

Jack shows up to the SGC showered, shaved, and hoping it’s not blatantly obvious that he’s feeling pretty damn good.

The morning passes quietly; he grudgingly catches up on paperwork, then gets bored. Eventually, he meets up with Daniel to grab lunch.

As they walk into the commissary, he sees her.

Carter’s sitting with Janet, looking for all the world like it’s just a normal day.

But the moment he sees her, she glances up, catching his eye as if it’s pure instinct. Her eyes sparkle for a moment before she catches herself, looking back at Janet, saying something he can’t hear from across the room.

Daniel, of course, grabs his food and beelines to join the women’s table, leaving Jack no option other than following. As it turns out, the only chair left is across from Carter, who looks up as he slides into the seat.

“Doc. Major.”

“Sir.” Carter’s voice is perfectly even. After hearing her whispering _Jack_ last night, it’s strange how intimate she makes _Sir_ sound. Like he can imagine her gasping it against his skin in bed.

…and he really, really needs to stop thinking about it here at a table in the middle of the commissary with Daniel and Janet next to them.

“Colonel.” Janet looks up, fork in one hand. “Have you been feeling anything strange?”

Jack coughs. “Sorry. What?”

“Sam assures me she’s feeling perfectly fine after your most recent adventure,” the doctor explains, “but I’m feeling uneasy. You _were_ just under the influence of alien technology.”

Oh. Right. The armbands. Not…the other thing.

Jack shrugs. “I’m fine. Daniel?”

“Yep.” Daniel nods, reaching for his sandwich. “I haven’t noticed anything.”

Janet frowns. “I still don’t like it.”

“You checked us out yourself,” Sam points out. “You said we were clean.”

“You are.” Janet sighs. “Maybe I’m just being overprotective. Do you understand how scary this was? The three of you were in serious danger. You’re all lucky to be alive.”

Daniel pauses, sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Well, that’s true.”

“We got out,” Jack says. “It was close. But we got out. No harm done.”

“ _You’re_ in an awfully good mood for having just been a Tok’ra lab rat,” Janet says. “Not usually your favorite thing. Is there a reason you’re feeling so cheerful?”

“Not sure.” He carefully doesn’t look at Carter. “Guess I just…woke up on the right side of the bed this morning.”

* * *

Janet gets paged back to the infirmary, and Daniel grabs one last cup of coffee and heads off to his books, leaving Sam sitting across from the colonel.

“The ‘right side of the bed?’ Really?”

She’s feeling a little cheeky, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He gives her a lazy, lopsided grin, the kind that makes her face heat up and her heart race.

“Yep.”

She opens her mouth, but before she can reply, the alarm goes off, and a voice comes over the base intercom. _Colonel O’Neill to the control room. Repeat, Colonel O’Neill to the control room. Unscheduled offworld activation._

* * *

It’s Bratac’s IDC, but Bratac’s not the one who steps through the Gate.

* * *

As Shaun’auc’s revelations lead to meeting with the Tok’ra, Jack’s feeling paranoid. He’s not in the habit of carrying on clandestine affairs with his subordinate officers, and he wonders how strange it’ll be. Will it be completely obvious? Is it possible to look at her and not immediately lose himself in remembering her naked and gasping in his bed?

But as it turns out, it’s easier than he thought it would be.

They’ve always worked together well. Carter’s still the brilliant, resourceful officer he’s known her to be, and when she fixes on a problem, she aims for a solution. Not much has changed. Maybe he glances at her a little more than he should, or maybe she gives him that warm, secret little smile more than usual, but it doesn’t feel different.

Although he wonders – is it really different now, or were they just already halfway here, long before they fell into bed?

* * *

In the end, Teal’C’s grief at Shaun’auc’s death affects all of SG-1. The weight of his loss hangs over them all, even though they only briefly knew her.

It’s a silent, unanimous decision that they’ll attend her public funeral back on Chulak. Despite the unrest, Teal’C has arranged for her ceremony in a small, deserted clearing, not far from the village. There are a handful of Jaffa there – Bratac stands with Teal’C, conferring quietly – and SG-1 take their place in the back. Out of respect, Sam and Colonel O’Neill wear dress blues, and Daniel wears a dark suit and tie; they garner a few curious glances, but they’re mostly left alone.

As the funeral rite begins, Sam catches her breath. Teal’C’s face is away from them, but his sorrow is palpable. She can guess enough of his history with Shaun’auc to understand the darkness he wears like a heavy mantle.

As the sun sets, the funeral pyre is lit, and they all stand in silence, watching the crackling flames rise against the night sky.

The memory of standing behind the forcefield, begging Jack O’Neill to leave her to die alone with all her regrets, is sharp and bitter in her throat, and Sam swallows hard, willing away the sudden sting in her eyes.

She doesn’t move, doesn’t look beside her, but when Jack’s hand brushes hers ever-so-slightly, she twines her little finger through his. It’s the tiniest motion in the world, but his touch is warm, comforting, here in the solemn light of the fire.


	11. on a deadline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we descend into the emotional maelstrom of Divide & Conquer, I am reminded of something. J.R. Bourne (aka Martouf) was in a 1995 movie called Jungleground. He was evil and had bleached hair and wore a mesh shirt. Also, he had his henchmen kidnap Roddy Piper’s girlfriend, Torri Higginson (aka Elizabeth Weir). This movie is magical/terrible. And last I checked, it’s still on youtube.
> 
> You’re welcome.

With Teal’C gone arranging the final, private rites for Shaun’auc back on Chulak, the remainder of SG-1 is off the mission roster for a few days.

Daniel always has something to sneeze on, dust off, and translate, and Sam’s lab is full of tech for her to tinker with. Hammond asks the colonel to step in and assist with training some of the newest recruits, so he’s gone for the most part.

Sam buries herself in her work. She’s trying to update the dialing system to work more efficiently, and it’s slow, tedious work, calculation by calculation. Daniel occasionally pokes his head in, and Janet drags her to the commissary for lunch, but apart from that, her lab is quiet.

After two days, she’s made pretty decent headway, now that she’s had the time to work without interruption. She files her results, copies everything, and makes notes to send it all down to the Gate techs.

There’s a knock at her door, and she turns to find Colonel O’Neill, watching her with a little smile and a cup of coffee in his hands.

“Figured you might need more caffeine.”

“Thanks.” She takes the cup, biting her lip at the sudden brush of his fingers over hers. It’s the briefest touch in the world, but it’s the first time she’s seen him in days, and the shock of his touch is absolutely electric.

“So.”

“So,” she echoes.

“Whatcha doing?”

Sam takes a cautious sip of coffee. “Reworking the dialing system.”

“Ah.” He nods slowly. “I…don’t have anything clever to say about that.”

She grins at him. “You’re losing your touch, sir.”

“I think you of all people know my touch is just fine, Major.”

She flushes hotly, and his smile widens. He takes way too much enjoyment in this. And he has that wolfish look in his eyes, the one she’s started to understand means he’s thinking about all the things he wants to do to her.

“Do you, um – ” she lowers her voice, even though it’s her lab and there’s no one else here. “Do you want to come over? Tonight?”

His eyes brighten, and she knows he understands the underlying message she’s trying to say: _It wasn’t just a one-time thing. Not for me._

That first night could be chalked up to the adrenaline and emotional turmoil of a near-death experience. But this? They both know why she’s inviting him over.

“Yeah.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’d like that.”

* * *

Sam’s not wild about cooking in the first place, and she’s feeling jittery enough that it would be a disaster, so she picks up wine on the way home from the SGC and orders Italian food.

She goes back and forth on what she wants to wear. She knows she’s over-thinking this; he sees her in shapeless BDU’s every day, and even jeans and a t-shirt is wild in comparison. And if she’s being bluntly honest with herself, whatever she wears, she’s much more interested in him removing it.

In the end, she puts on a lacy black bra that she’d certainly never wear to work and pulls on a skirt. It’s nice to feel feminine. Pretty.

Desirable.

* * *

They eat dinner in her kitchen.

She puts on quiet music and they sit across from each other. After trying – and failing – not to talk about work, they give up and talk about the SGC.

It feels like a hundred other dinners they’ve eaten together – at his place, at Daniel’s, in the commissary, beside a campfire on any number of planets.

“- so anyway, that’s why it always feels cold when we go through the Gate.”

“Ah.” She expects to see that glazed look he gets when she rambles on about science, but he surprises her – his eyes are sparkling.

“Are you kidding me?”

“What?” His voice is breezy, but he’s still smiling, and she narrows her eyes.

“You’ve been playing dumb, haven’t you?”

“I have no idea what you mean, _Doctor_ Carter.”

She tosses her napkin on the counter, shaking her head. “Every time you pretend you have no idea what I’m talking about – you’re not really clueless, are you? You’re just playing dumb." He laughs at that, and she knows she’s on the right track. “What, are you just bored?”

“It’s not that. And for the record, most of what you say _does_ go over my head.”

“Then what is it?”

He shrugs. “You get so excited, you know? This is your thing. Besides. You’re cute when you talk science.”

* * *

Her plate is empty and she’s nursing the end of her wine when Sam finally sits back in her chair. “This hasn’t been as weird as I thought it might be.”

“I know what you mean.” He finishes his own wine. “It’s actually kind of…normal.”

“I know it’s not always going to feel this easy,” she says quietly.

“Yeah.” He looks down at his plate. “If only.”

Rather than sink further into the swirling morass of reasons this has all been a terrible idea, Sam grabs plates and sets about washing up. Jack collects their silverware and wineglasses, wipes the counter, takes the clean dishes and sets them in the drying rack. They work together as easily as breathing, and before she knows it, everything’s clean and tidy.

And then he grabs her shirt and tugs her closer, and from the look in his eyes, he’s got one thing on his mind. He slides his hands over her hips, crowding her up against the counter, his eyes dark and molten with desire.

Sam stretches up on her toes, meets his mouth in a kiss they’ve been waiting for all night, and his reaction is immediate. He kisses her hard and fast, setting her head spinning as an arrow of desire warms between her legs.

“So.” He slips his fingers under the hem of her shirt, a teasing, light touch that makes her back arch. “Time for dessert?”

* * *

Jack pulls her down onto the couch and starts working on the buttons of her shirt, groaning appreciatively when he finds black lace underneath it. “Are you trying to kill me here?”

“You like that?”

“Oh yeah. Big fan.” He leans forward, flicks his tongue over the notch in her collarbone, and she gasps. “Still gonna have to take it off  you, though.”

She slides a knee across him to straddle his lap, drawing a groan from both of them as she settles against the quickly-growing bulge in his jeans. He’s trailing a line of kisses over her chest, fumbling for the clasp of her bra, and his blood is heading south pretty quickly. He doesn’t know where to touch her first; his body is tight and hot with arousal, and if he doesn’t get a grip – so to speak – this is going to be over sooner than either of them would like it.

Jack slides his hand up her skirt, over her smooth legs, up her thighs, until he feels the thin lacy fabric of her underwear, already hot and damp under his touch. She sighs into his mouth, and he hooks his fingers in the material, tugging it aside, slipping one finger into her wet heat. Her whole body tenses against him, and she rolls her hips, straining for more contact.

Her breathing is starting to turn into shallow little moans, her hips rolling against him as she leans into his hand, when suddenly her phone rings.

“Ignore it,” he murmurs into her mouth, but she drags herself away from his kiss, glances at the caller ID.

“Can’t.” Her voice is strained. “It’s work.”

He groans, but lets her go. Sam grabs the phone and slides off his lap, smoothing her skirt as she tries to catch her breath. “Carter.”

He can just barely hear someone on the other end of the line, and she swallows. 

“Hi, Daniel.”

Jack rolls his eyes. Seriously? _Daniel. Buddy. This isn’t a good time._ He groans a little too noisily, and Sam presses her fingers to his mouth, glaring.

“What is it?” She listens for a moment, and her face falls, tension draining out of her body. “Right. Okay. When?”

Daniel says something else, and she smiles wryly, looking over at Jack.

“Uh – no, I haven’t seen him. Why?”

Jack nips lightly at the finger she still has pressed to his lips, watching with satisfaction as her lips part and her eyes glaze over.

“Okay. See you soon.”

She hangs up the phone with a sigh. “We have to go.”

“Why?”

“It’s the Tok’ra.”

“Why tonight?”

“Meeting about a treaty. We’re going to Vorash early tomorrow.”

“Oh, for –” Jack scowls. ““They’re doing this on purpose, aren’t they?”

“Jack –”

“For the record, they may be allies, but I don’t appreciate them trying to stop me from getting lucky.”

“Daniel said he tried to call you first,” she says, running a hand over his chest. “Apparently you’re not answering your phone.”

“Can you blame me?”

She huffs a soft laugh and finally sits up, running her hands through her hair. She’s still flushed and panting, looking exactly like they’ve been making out on her couch, and honestly, they’re both so keyed up -

He glances at his watch. “When do they need us there?”

“The meeting’s in an hour.”

“Well, that just means we’re on a deadline.” He pushes her down onto the cushions and drags her skirt up her thighs, watching her blue eyes go hazy. “I can work fast.”


	12. divided

By the time Jack walks into the briefing room, he’s amused to see that Carter has pulled herself together. And changed clothes, which, well. Understandable. Her hair is tidy, the pink flush on her face gone. No one would ever guess that she was just on her couch, gasping and clutching at the pillows while he –

“Ah, Jack.” Hammond sees him. “There you are.”

“Evening, General,” Jack says, sliding into his usual chair. “You just missed me too much, sir?”

“Sorry to cut your evening short, but we got a message from Vorash. The high counselor has approved the signature of a treaty, and you’re going there bright and early tomorrow to iron out details.”

Daniel and Teal’C don’t even give him or Sam a second glance. For her part, she’s very studiously not looking at him.

As much as he’d like to stare at her and endlessly replay what they were doing an hour ago in his mind, Jack forces his eyes and attention to the general. Duty calls, after all.

* * *

On Vorash, everything is going swimmingly until suddenly Martouf comes running into the room where Sam is working and tells her that Major Graham just tried to assassinate High Councillor Per’sus, and there are multiple fatalities.

Her heart leaps into her throat, and she races after him into the council chamber.

The colonel and Daniel are standing nearby, watching Tok’ra guards carry out bodies. Sam stares in shock. She knew Graham. He was a good guy.

“What happened?” she manages.

“I’d like to know that.” The colonel’s voice is tight.

The tension in the room is tangible – Per’sus survived, but an assassination attempt is about as grim a start to treaty negotiations as possible. Martouf’s assurance that no one assumes SG-1 was complicit in Graham’s actions is a relief, but only partially, because Thomas Graham just killed himself, and no one knows why.

* * *

Anise’s revelation – the Go’auld have developed mind-control technology, and the victim doesn’t know it’s happened until it’s too late – chills Sam to her core. Being forcibly taken as a host is bad enough; but this? – being turned into a robot, watching yourself try to kill someone, then watching your hands trigger your own death?

It’s hard to imagine a worse fate.

Anise’s detection technology is all they have, and when one of Graham’s teammates tests positive, Sam feels her heart sink. A part of her was hoping it wasn’t true, that Graham just suffered a breakdown.

But no. The Go’auld, it turns out, don’t have to physically take a body to control someone.

Astor agrees to try the procedure to disarm the programming, looking pale and rattled as she’s strapped into the chair. SG-1 sits in the observation room, watching, and Sam feels sick to her stomach. It reminds her too much of an abandoned missile silo. A little girl with a bomb in her chest.

Walking away, hoping Cassie would die before she woke up.

She swallows hard, knotting her fingers tightly, but suddenly she feels Jack’s hand on her knee.

She turns to find him watching her, ever aware. He says nothing, looks away, doesn’t draw attention to it, but he subtly squeezes her knee before pulling his hand away. No one else seems to notice, but the quick touch is a tiny source of comfort.

* * *

Lieutenant Louise Astor is a good woman and a fine officer.

She shoots herself in the head in front of everyone.

A look around shows Jack what that he’s not the only one shaken. Even SG staff, many of them battle-tested, tough-as-nails military officers, are shocked at the sudden explosion of blood and brain matter.

So much for the hope that this was an isolated problem.

* * *

Jack takes his turn in the machine, strapped down, answering questions. It’s an unpleasant reminder of yet another mission that went south, one more time he and his team narrowly avoided death.

Staring at Carter across a forcefield, listening as she begs him to leave her there to die.

He finishes taking, and Anise’s face says everything she doesn’t; a pair of SF’s walk Jack back to his quarters, and the sick feeling in his chest gets worse.

And then Hammond calls Jack into his office and tells him that it’s even worse than he thought.

“I still have to notify Major Carter,” Hammond adds.

“I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure you want to?”

Jack nods slowly. “She should hear it from me.”

* * *

When he gets to the room Carter’s been housed in, Jack takes a deep breath to steady himself. He’s got an SF with him, and there are two more posted outside her door. She’s too smart not to know what’s happening, especially when she’s put in a room with a metal grill over the window.

Inside, he finds her sitting on her cot, knees pulled up to her chest. It’s a strangely passive posture for a woman he knows to be anything but passive.

“Give us a second, huh?”

The guard nods, shutting the door behind him, and Carter sits up a little straighter, her eyes fixed on him.

“Sir, this has to be a mistake.” He can hear the thread of desperation in her voice.

“Tell me about it.”

It’s all a nightmare, isn’t it? It’s a nightmare. And any minute now, he’s going to wake up. And roll over and find her asleep beside him. And she’ll tell him _It’s not real, don’t worry, it’s fine_.

“Can you talk to General Hammond about getting me re-tested?”

“Us.”

“What?”

“ _Us_ re-tested.”

Her eyes go wide. “That – sir. It can’t be.”

“I know.”

“Although –” That’s Samantha Carter. Always looking for the outside possibility. Even when he doesn’t want her to one. “We _were_ both unconscious at the same time.”

The gnawing dread in his chest gets heavier. She’s right. They both woke up on the floor. “Apparently.”

And he used to think them sleeping together was the most earth-shattering result of this whole mess.

“Are they sure it’s not a mistake?”

“She said there’s no question. It’s both of us.”

She shakes her head, her eyes far-off. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean – it doesn’t make _sense_ , sir.” She waves one hand, trying to explain. “Their whole purpose was to get a Zatarc into the SGC. So why put the shield between us again before we woke up?”

He nods slowly, starting to see what she’s getting at. “Right - if they infected us, then they should have just let us go. They wouldn’t risk killing us before we got back here.”

“Exactly. The whole point of this strategy is to plant us back here. They wouldn’t have tried to stop us.”

“That makes sense.”

She smiles darkly, finally meeting his eyes squarely. Her shoulders are slumped. “Does it? – or are we just reaching?”

“Maybe? I don’t know.” Jack shoves his hands in his pockets, looking down at the carpet. “Look. I know we don’t really talk about – about _us_ when we’re here –”

“Sir –”

“Sam.” Her name, so rarely used, feels strange in his mouth. It sounds wrong in this sparse, utilitarian room. It belongs in his bedroom, where he can whisper it against her skin. “If – if something happens –”

There’s a knock at the door, and one of the SF’s leans in. “Colonel? We should go.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“Very good, sir.”

Jack rubs his hands on his trousers. Carter’s holding it together, but he knows her too well. She’s scared.

Normally, he’d walk away. Content himself with a look. They’ve always been able to communicate that way; this entire thing, this messy, illicit affair started with nothing but significant looks, long before they actually fell in bed together.

But right now, with the ever-present threat of death looming closer than usual on the horizon, Jack thinks, no one could grudge him, right?

So he reaches for her silently, wrapping her in his arms in a hug that’s more desperate than comforting. She fits in his arms, her head tucked under his chin, and he doesn’t care if one of the guards sees it, because right now, nothing else matters. Nothing but her.

“What do we do?” she whispers.

He shuts his eyes, breathing in the scent of her hair.

“I don’t know.”

* * *

The prospect of staying in a drug-induced coma in the hopes that someone finds a solution is a dismal one, but it’s marginally better than death.

Sam wonders if they’ll put her and Jack next to each other. Tuck them in some corner of the infirmary, complete with matching hospital gowns and heart monitors. Ironic to think the SGC might end up making them sleep together.

But if nothing else, at least she won’t be alone.

And then Daniel tells her what Jack’s planning to do.

Her heart leaps into her throat. _No._

“What? He can’t.”

“He’s on his way down now,” Daniel says.

“Why is he doing this?”

Daniel shrugs sympathetically. “He said he'd rather take the risk instead of being put to sleep indefinitely.”

 _It’s more than that_. _He’d never volunteer to be a lab rat._

Her heart is pounding in her chest. “But Astor –”

“If it happens, he thinks that Anise can use what she'd learn to save you.” Janet’s voice is gentle, like she’s not explaining that Sam’s life might depend on the results of Jack’s autopsy.

That’s it.

_He’s not doing it for himself._

Sam runs for the door, throws it open. The SF’s block her from the hallway, but she can see him walking past, head down, as she struggles against the guards.

“Colonel!”

He glances back at her reflexively, and she can see it in his brown eyes: he was going to hide this from her. He didn’t want her to know. Now, he immediately looks away. Keeps walking. She’s choking on words she can’t say again. _Please don’t do this. Please. I can’t lose you._

He disappears around a corner, and she turns back to Daniel and Janet. “You have to stop him.”

“It’s his choice, Sam.”

_You don’t understand. He can’t do this._

What happens when she wakes up in a week, a month, a year, to find out that she never even got to tell him goodbye?


	13. the truth

Jack’s strapped to the chair like a death row inmate, wondering how much time he has left, when Janet barges in and tells Anise to stop.

A part of him is rattled – he’d rather just dive into this and get it over, because at best, it’s going to be excruciating, and at worst, it’ll just be all over – but then he sees _her_.

Carter comes straight to him, and he knows she must be angry at him for changing his mind and doing this. Did she demand they give her a chance to say goodbye, on the off-chance this is another disaster?

But her eyes are bright, and there’s none of the taut, crackling fear he saw when she came running into the hallway, straining against the SF’s, trying to stop him. Right now, she looks determined.

She knows something.

“Carter?” His voice comes out uneven. “What’s going on?”

She looks back at the others. “Can we have a moment alone, please?”

Janet and Anise, along with the guards, obligingly give them space, and she leans over to speak softly. It’s distracting, because he can feel the warmth of her skin, breathe in that subtle smell that must be her shampoo or lotion or something, and even here, even now, his hands itch to touch her.

* * *

Jack shifts uncomfortably in the chair. “Undo this?”

She loosens the strap around his head, brushing the pads of her fingers gently over his skin before she sets a hand on his shoulder. It’s as much to comfort her as it is for him.

“What’s going on?” he asks quietly.

“We’re not Za’tarcs.”

“How do you know?”

“The machine thinks we have false memories, but we don’t. We were lying.”

“I wasn’t lying.”

He looks genuinely baffled, and she has the overwhelming urge to ruffle his hair, press her lips to his forehead. Wrap her arms around him. “Okay, you left something out.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Sir – when you wouldn’t leave me –” the memory is still crystal clear in her mind, and even thinking about it sends her pulse racing – “both of us were – feeling – things we didn’t admit.”

There’s a long pause, and when he speaks, it’s hesitant. “You mean –”

She knows what he’s hoping she doesn’t mean. “Can you honestly tell me you weren’t thinking about it?”

Comprehension dawns on his face, and her heart sinks. Because there’s really no escaping it.

“Carter – if that’s what it is –” he lowers his voice further, even though no one can hear them – “how much do we have to tell them?”

“I don’t know.” She puts her hand on his wrist, squeezes gently. “But – I don’t think there’s any other way.”

He holds her gaze for a long time, and Sam knows. She _knows_.

“Jack, please. Trust me.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he nods. She turns back to Anise.

“Re-test him.”

* * *

So Jack’s hooked up to the lie detector again, and as the questions start, he tells himself: whatever it is, just say it. No way out but through.

After all, he’ll do whatever it takes for her. That hasn’t changed.

Anise’s demeanor is irritatingly placid as she walks him through the memory. Like she’s not even going to acknowledge what it meant to them. Objectively, Jack knows she’s just doing her job, and her methodical approach will make the entire process more accurate, but he’s just stupidly, helplessly angry, because why does it all come to this?

But he answers her questions, because he has to.

“You did everything you could.”

“Yes.”

“But you couldn’t save her.”

“No.” It was his greatest fear, come alive in that moment.

“But you still could have saved yourself.”

“I guess.”

“How did you feel?”

“Like I was about to die.”

“Sir.”

Carter’s voice is quiet, just a single syllable, but she looks him in the eye, and he can hear the words, as clearly as if she were whispering in his ear. _Just tell the truth. There’s no other way_.

“I didn’t leave because…I’d rather have died myself…than lose Carter.”

“Why?”

“Because I care about her.” He keeps his eyes on her, watching her face soften. “A lot more than I’m supposed to.”

Anise gives the word – he’s passed, it’s over, he’s safe – and even as relief washed through him, his eyes are still on Sam.

Because odds are, she’s safe. If he’s not infected, she probably isn’t, either.

But she still has to prove it.

* * *

Sam settles in the chair, and Anise straps her down as matter-of-factly as if her commanding officer didn’t just that he’s emotionally compromised when it comes to her. That it influenced his actions on a mission.

That it’s a problem.

The strap on her forehead is itchy, and as she hears the distinctive crackle of the Zat gun arming beside her, Sam realizes: this is it.

Either way, everything changes before she leaves this chair.

“Very well,” Anise says, pulling up her screen, looking over her instruments. “Let us begin.”

At first, it’s not so bad. Recounting the initial events of the mission is easy. They had armbands. They ran. They planted C4. Teal’C showed up.

She got dizzy and woke up on the floor without superpowers.

Anise eyes the computer for a moment before looking back at Sam. “You were trapped, and Colonel O’Neill refused to leave you. What happened then?”

The colonel is standing behind Anise, and Sam keeps her eyes on his. There’s no one else in the room. It’s just them.

“He tried to rip open the control panel and take down the shield. It didn’t work.”

“You wanted him to leave?”

“I begged him to go.”

“But he refused.”

“Yes.” Her chest is tight. She’s trapped again.

“What were you feeling?”

“Despair.” Helplessness. There was nothing she could do.

“What else?”

“I was angry at him.”

“Because he stayed?”

“Yes.” She lets out a breath. “He was being stubborn. I didn’t want him to watch me die.”

A shadow of something crosses his face at that, but he doesn’t say a word, just keeps watching her.

“What else?” Anise prompts.

Sam blinks, finally looking away from him. “What do you mean?”

“What else were you thinking?”

“Regret.” Her throat aches, like it’s trying to stop the words from escaping. “I was thinking about what I would regret.”

“And what was that?”

“Not telling him the truth when I had the chance.”

“What truth?”

 _I love you_.

The words are caught in her throat again. Sam tries to get them out, but before she can, he cuts in.

“Stop.”

She looks up, startled, but he’s not looking at her.

“The thing’s green now. She passed.” His voice is sharp as he looks at Anise. “We’re done here.”

Sam lets out a shuddering breath. Her hands are gripping the armrests, and her chest feels like it’s about to crack open.

He doesn’t wait for Anise, just crosses the room and reaches for the straps holding her down.

“You all right?” he asks quietly.

She nods, not trusting her voice. He slips the strap off her head, and maybe she’s imagining it, but it feels like his hand lingers on her cheek, just a breath of a touch.

“Carter –”

“Sir.” She lowers her voice, takes a deep breath. “Nothing’s changed. Not for me.”

There’s more she wants to say, but she can’t get the words out.

“Me either.”


	14. the aftermath

In the aftermath of everything, chaos slowly dissolves around the Gate room, leaving Samantha Carter on the floor, clinging to Martouf’s lifeless body.

Jack hovers in the background with Daniel, watching as she finally releases Martouf, letting a pair of med techs ease the body onto a gurney. She watches them, but her eyes are blank, unseeing, glittering with tears.

Janet takes Sam’s arm and walks her out, and Jack lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Poor Sam,” Daniel murmurs.

Jack nods mutely.

* * *

Jack’s on his way to the locker rooms, determined to get out of the SGC and get some air. He hasn’t seen Carter since she killed Martouf in the Gate room, and he’s half-hoping he’ll accidentally stumble across her in the hallway. Instead, he turns a corner to find Janet waiting for the elevator.

“Hi, Doc.”

“Colonel.” The doctor smiles tiredly. She looks worn out. He wonders how long she’s been on duty without a break. “You leaving?”

“Yeah. Just gotta get my stuff. You too?”

“Actually, I’m giving Sam a ride home.”

“Is she all right?”

“No.”

“Right.” He shakes his head. If she’s not even up to driving - “Stupid question.”

“Colonel.” She turns to face him, her gaze keen. “I was in the room. I heard everything.”

He freezes. “Look, Doc –”

Janet holds up a hand. “I don’t want to know. Frankly, I already know too much. I still have to write up my official report, and God knows how _that’s_ going to go. Right now, I just want to take her home and make sure she gets some rest.”

Jack shifts uneasily. Janet may be Sam’s friend, but she’s an Air Force officer, and she has obligations. There are certain times when she simply can’t turn a blind eye.

But at this point, there’s nothing he can do.

* * *

His house is too quiet.

Normally, Jack likes the solitude. It’s a welcome relief after the chaos of Cheyenne Mountain. But now it feels like a cavern, hollow and unfinished. It’s incomplete.

After everything that’s happened today, he knows he needs to give Sam space. Janet probably stayed to keep an eye on her. And Janet may not know what they’ve already done, but Jack showing up at Sam’s home unannounced, at night, would be too suspicious for her to ignore.

So he stays home. Makes dinner. Stares at a beer without drinking it.

When his phone rings, it’s a relief.

Jack doesn’t bother looking at the caller ID. “O’Neill.”

Her voice is quiet. “Can you come over?”

He’s reaching for his keys before she finishes the question.

“I’m on my way.”

* * *

Her lights are on, but she doesn’t answer when he knocks.

After a moment, Jack fishes out her key – everyone on SG-1 has everyone else’s keys – and lets himself in.

Sam’s all alone on her couch, still in her fatigues, her knees pulled up to her chest.

She’s crying.

He settles beside her, and she immediately turns into his arms, her body melting into his as she buries her face in his shoulder.

She cries for a long time, and he just holds her, running a gentle hand through her hair, pressing his lips to her forehead. Carter doesn’t cry in front of people. He doubts she even let Janet see her like this.

Eventually, her tears slow, and he can feel her breathing deepening, her body relaxing. She’s tired. He can feel the fatigue seeping through her skin.

“Come on,” he murmurs into her hair. “You need to rest.”

She follows him quietly into her bedroom and undresses as if in a daze, dropping her shirt and trousers on the floor beside her closet. Her bra gets tossed in the same pile, and Jack picks up the worn, oversized USAF t-shirt on her bed, lifting it over her head. It falls around her, loose and soft, and she offers him a small smile of thanks.

She climbs into bed, and for a moment he wonders if she wants to be alone, but she surprises him; she holds the covers, watching him expectantly.

He strips down to his t-shirt and boxers and climbs in beside her, holding his breath as she rolls over to tuck herself against him. It’s a comfort for her, he knows, but the warm, soft press of her body makes something in him relax. He lets out a breath as she settles a hand on his chest, her feet brushing his.

Carter stays very still for a long time, but the tension in her body tells him she’s still awake. Moonlight streams through the window, casting a faint, silvery glow over the comforter.

“I’m not going to ask if you’re okay,” he says.

She lets out a breath, soft warm air against his chest, something that might be a chuckle if either of them had anything like that left. “Good.”

“I’m sorry about Martouf.”

“He didn’t deserve that,” she says softly.

“No, he didn’t.” Jack has his issues with the Tok’ra, but Martouf was a damn good guy.

“I shouldn’t have –” Her voice is rising.

“Sam –”

“If I could have just thought of something –”

“ _Sam_.” He tightens his arm around her waist. “There was nothing you could have done.”

She turns her face into his chest, her fingers gripping at his t-shirt. “There should have been.”

“I know.”

* * *

Jack tightens his arm around her waist, drawing her closer. Sam sighs, relaxing against the warmth of his body.

“You shouldn’t have offered to sacrifice yourself,” she whispers.

It’s a long moment before he responds. “On that ship, I couldn’t save you. But here, I thought maybe I could.”

_I’d rather have died myself than lose Carter._

Sam shuts her eyes. She’s out of tears for now, but there’s still an ache in her throat, because she’s in love with the one man in the known universe who’s forbidden to her. His presence itself is comforting, a layer of warmth and deep-rooted affection that settles around her like a blanket, and even though he hasn’t said the word, she _knows_ how he feels, as bright and clear as a fire.

She curls up in the warmth of his body, and for the first time in hours, she feels some small amount of peace.


	15. waking up

When Sam wakes, it’s slow, drifting to the surface in warm, pale morning sunlight.

Her bedmate takes a deep breath, but otherwise he doesn’t stir. Jack’s still fast asleep, dead to the world, and she takes the opportunity to look at him, the way she has to stop herself from doing when she wakes up beside him off-world and remembers why she can’t touch him. He looks relaxed when he’s asleep, the lines on his face smooth. Even asleep, his arms around her are secure; she’s come to realize that despite his wry humor, his knack for putting wit between him and anything that comes too close, he’s deeply, profoundly protective.

She sighs, shifting slightly in his arms, and suddenly catches her breath. Her thigh is tucked between his legs, and she can feel the length of him hard against her. His hand has worked its way under her thin t-shirt, his thumb just brushing the underside of her breast.

Arousal blossoms in her veins, slow and syrupy and intoxicating, and she barely has to move to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to his throat. He swallows reflexively, still asleep, and Sam bites her lip.

She’s wide awake now and her body is aching, and the temptation is overpowering.

So she drags her foot over his calf, pressing her lips to his jaw. She trails her hand down his chest, feather-light, finally settling over the bulge in his boxers.

She palms him slowly, adding pressure, finally slipping her hand through the slit in the fabric for full skin-to-skin contact. He lets out a low groan, his hips unconsciously moving into her hand.

She can feel the change in his breathing, the sudden tension that ripples through his abdominal muscles. There’s a quick flex of his arm around her, the long, deep breath he takes in as he drifts out of sleep. “Mmm.” His voice rumbles in his chest, sending shivers down her spine.

His eyes open, and when he catches sight of her, his gaze is dark with arousal, like she’s just pulled him out of a dream she was already part of.

“Good morning,” she breathes against his mouth.

He hums, pressing a kiss to her lips. “It is now.”

Jack rolls her over onto her back and she gasps, clutching instinctively at his shoulders. Any soft sleepiness is gone, and his eyes are molten as he looks down at her with unadulterated lust. She squirms against him, but she’s pinned under the weight of his body. He drags his thumb over her nipple, and the rasp of fabric against her over-sensitized skin makes her shiver.

He finally strips her shirt off, tossing it somewhere nearby, and then he hooks his fingers in the waistband of her underwear, dragging them down her legs slowly. Sam reaches blindly for the pillow, clutching at it with unsteady hands as he kisses the inside of her thigh, pressing her legs apart, and then he slips two fingers inside her and puts his mouth on her and everything goes fuzzy.

She murmurs something incoherent, burying her fingers in his hair, straining against him as he presses an arm over her hips to hold her down, working her so slowly it’s agonizing, just barely enough to keep her tense and pleading.

It’s slow and painstaking and relentless, and then he sucks on her clit and crooks his fingers and she comes hard, her body trembling with release.

Flushed, sweaty, trying to catch her breath, Sam reaches for the hem of his t-shirt, tugging ineffectually. He grins. “You want something?”

Her body is still warm and liquid, but Sam manages to push up with one arm, tangling her fingers in his hair again, pulling him closer for a hot, wet, open-mouthed kiss. His tongue swipes hers aggressively, and she bites gently at his lower lip.

He finally pulls away, tearing his shirt over his head, kicking off his boxers, settling between her legs.

But this isn’t like the first time.

Their first night together was frantic, desperate, a frenzied rush of I-thought-we-were-going-to-die and I-need-you-to-know-how-I-feel-about-you. It felt so new, so terrifying, like they were both stepping over the line together.

But now?

Something’s awakened in him, like a switch has been flipped, and there’s nothing in the world for him but her. It’s the same darkness she felt the first time he pinned her back against his kitchen cabinets, heat and intensity that has her wet and hot and aching.

When he slides into her, it’s rough and deep and gentle and just _perfect_. She moans into his mouth. He pins her wrists beside her head and she gasps, her eyes flickering shut; it’s total sensory overload, and her body is on fire.

“Look at me.”

His voice is nothing but a hoarse whisper, and she opens her eyes to find him looking down at her with total, naked vulnerability. She’s never seen his eyes so dark. So honest.

“Jack –”

He groans, releasing his grip on her wrists to support himself as he thrusts into her, and Sam shudders, her fingers digging into the sinewy muscles of his back. She’s getting close now, deep, pleasurable tension coiling at the base of her spine, and his hips are moving more erratically as he moves with her.

“Don’t stop,” she gasps, “God, don’t ever stop –”

His eyes are locked on hers, endless and heated, and when she comes it’s a blinding rush that seizes up her whole body.

He spills into her with a deep groan, finally collapsing on her, and for a long moment, Sam thinks maybe they should never, ever move, because as much as she’s always hated the phrase, they really did just _make love_.


	16. stolen moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the fic A-team (for lack of a better name, I guess) who were kind enough to help me work through this chapter! I appreciate it.

Late morning finds Sam and Jack – it’s strange, how easy it feels to think of his this way – settled on her couch, half-napping, half-watching something inane and pointless on the television _._ There’s a comfortable, easy warmth that hovers around them here, as they take the kind of stolen moment they never really get to have. He has to go back to the SGC to talk to Hammond, and she’s going to have to undergo a psych evaluation before she’s cleared for the field again, but right now they can spend half an hour pretending it’s no more complicated than this.

She leans back against his arm, humming as he slowly massages her head. His touch is soft and easy, and she’s getting drowsy again, lulled by the warmth of his body and the slow, even pressure as he combs his fingers through the blonde strands. Her hair’s getting long again. Normally, she’d be scheduling an appointment to get it cut ASAP.

But then, she thinks with a wry smile, letting her hair get a little long doesn’t feel like such a rebellion now, after what she just did to him in the shower half an hour ago.

She snaps out of her almost-nap as her phone rings, and she leans over an amused Jack to pick it up off the end table. “Hello?”

“Sam?”                                                  

“Hey, Janet.”

“How are you?” Janet sounds anxious. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay last night.”

“It’s okay,” Sam says, glancing at Jack. “I’m – I’m all right. Better than I thought.”

“Good.” Even outside of the infirmary, Janet’s a mother hen. “Yesterday was a tough day. You went through a lot.”

“Yeah.” She feels Jack’s hand, warm on her shoulder, and she smiles at him gratefully. “I’m just – figuring it all out.”

“I understand. And just so you know, I haven’t written up anything about the testing, Sam. If you want to talk about it, we can.”

Right. Of course. Because Janet heard them confess their feelings, but she still doesn’t know what happened after they got back from that ill-fated mission.

“Okay.”

Sam hears muffled voices as someone on the other end asks Janet a question, and Janet finally comes back to the phone. “I have to go, but I’ll call later, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Bye.”

Janet hangs up, and Sam hands the phone over to Jack, who sets it back in the cradle.

“Everything okay?”

“I guess so.” Sam turns sideways to face him, pulling one knee up to her chest. “She’s going to ask me about you.”

He doesn’t look surprised. “What are you going to tell her?”

“I’m not sure.” She sighs, picking idly at a thread on her leggings. “I don’t want to lie. But –”

“Yeah.” He gives her a little smile. “But.”

He reaches for her feet and tugs them into his lap, digging his thumbs in. She groans appreciatively, settling back against the cushions. He’s very tactile, she’s noticed. Since they started sleeping together, whenever they’re alone, he’s constantly touching her.

“It can’t stay like this,” she says quietly. “I know that.”

He nods slowly, still rubbing her feet, and Sam props her chin on her hand, watching him.

He’s thinking.

* * *

Eventually, Jack realizes, he has to go. Hammond will be expecting him.

He looks at Sam, who’s half-asleep, leaning against the couch cushions, her feet still in his lap. She looks calm. Relaxed. Soft, sleepy Samantha Carter is a side of her he’s coming to appreciate more and more; she may be brilliant and resourceful and a hundred other things in the service of this and every other planet, but it’s here, in the stolen, soft moments between them, that he sees the last piece of her.

“Sam. Hey, you.” He pats her feet, smiling when she wakes up with a confused huff at the sudden movement. “I have to get going.”

She pulls herself upright, rubbing her eyes. “Fine.”

She follows him to the door, watching him tug on his jacket. She still looks tousled and sleepy and adorable. A wave of affection hits Jack square in the chest, as powerful as it is inevitable, and he lets out a breath. “I’ll talk to you later.”

He kisses her long and slow. Her body molds to him without hesitation as she slides her hands over his shoulders, running her fingers through the short hairs at the base of his neck. Her mouth opens under his, hot and eager and willing, and if he didn’t actually have to leave, Jack would walk her right back to the couch and spend the rest of the day learning how to take her apart.

When he finally breaks away, her breathing is as unsteady as his, her cheeks pink, and he knows without a doubt in his mind what it is he’s going to do.

Because she's right. Something has to change.

“We’ll figure it out,” he murmurs into her mouth, tracing her jaw with his thumb. “It’s going to be fine.”


	17. you know why

“So, Jack.” Hammond sits back in his chair. “Been a tough couple of days.”

Jack lets out a breath. “Yes, it has.”

The general doesn’t keep him long; most of the report has come from the Tok’ra, and outside of any medical findings Janet comes up with, there’s not much to talk about. Hammond very pointedly doesn’t ask about the specifics of his and Carter’s testimony, but then, they were both cleared, and the general was much more concerned about possible political assassinations.

“Very good.” Hammond jots something down on his legal pad and caps his pen. “Anything else, Colonel?”

Jack’s about to say _no_ , but he stops. Thinks about it. And decides he may as well rip the bandaid off now.

“Can I ask you something, sir? Hypothetically?”

Hammond cocks his head, clearly not sure where this is going, but nods slowly. “If you want.”

“What would you say if I said I wanted to retire? For good this time?”

The question seems to hit Hammond by surprise; his eyes go wide for a moment before he can school his facial expression back to neutral. “Any particular reason?”

“I’ve put my time in, sir, and physically, I’m not where I used to be.” True. “Right now, I’m one busted knee away from being done anyway.” Also true. “And after our last few missions, I just don’t think I can keep on like I’ve been doing.”

The general fixes him with a long look, and Jack holds his breath. Did Frasier disclose anything to him? What does he know? Hammond has a tendency to know everything that happens in this complex.

“Well, to answer your question, Jack, I’d say you’d be missed.” Hammond folds his hands, thinking as he continues. “Finding a new commanding officer for SG-1 would be the most crucial thing. Actually, if you were open to it, I could consider bringing you in as a civilian consultant from time to time. You know enough about Gate travel to help train new officers, and you’ve got every security clearance there is. Sure would make the paperwork easier.”

Jack blinks. He wasn’t expecting Hammond to take to the idea so easily, especially coming out of nowhere. And why isn’t Hammond trying to convince him to stay in the service, and just move to a different role?

Is this too easy?

Hammond must take the pause as doubt; he holds up a hand. “Take some time, think it over. Then tell me what you decide.”

“Will do, General.” He’s already decided, but Hammond’s right; no reason not to take a day or two and put things in order.

“And not that it’s any of my business, Jack, but if there’s a particular person involved in this decision – you should probably talk to her, too.”

Jack’s head snaps up, but Hammond just smiles. “Hypothetically, of course.”

“Ah – yes, sir. Thank you.”

* * *

When Sam walks into the infirmary that afternoon, Janet looks relieved to see her up and around.

“Sam.” Clipboard still in hand, Janet hurries to hug her. “I’m so sorry about yesterday. You okay?”

“I’m fine. Really.” Her mind is in a million places, but Sam feels steadier today.

“Good, good.” Janet scribbles something absently on whatever chart she’s holding. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I left some things in my lab. Just wanted to stop in.”

“All right. But go home when you’re done, okay?” Janet glances up at the clock. “I’m off at five-thirty. Do you want to come over for dinner? Cass would love to see you.”

“Yeah. That’d be great.”

* * *

Sam really means to just stop in her lab, check a few things, and look at her inbox. That’s all. Very quick, then she’ll go home.

But she makes the mistake of picking up the newest report someone’s dropped off, and eventually she sits down, telling herself she’s just going to skim SG-11’s newest findings. Really.

Well, and she should also look over the results of last week’s Gate diagnostics. But that’s it. She’s just going to –

“Figures I’d find you here.”

Sam looks up, startled, to find Jack in the doorway of her lab, looking amused.

“I was just –”

“Nah, it’s okay.” He waves a hand dismissively. “You’re not in trouble.”

She relaxes a fraction. “I had to grab a few things from my locker, and SG-11 left some observation data from their latest mission, so I just wanted to look it over.”

“Like I said: not in trouble.”

“Right. Sorry.” She wrinkles her nose. “I’m just used to you telling me to go home.”

He grins at that. It’s the same grin he’s always given her, quick and teasing, but now it strikes her just how affectionate it is.

_Has it always been this obvious?_

“Actually, I’m glad you’re here.” He holds out a piece of paper. “Figured you’d want to read this before I submit it.”

She scans the paper. Blinks. Re-reads. Then finally looks up at him.

“Retirement?”

He nods, his eyes never leaving hers. “Retirement.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

His voice is quiet, matter-of-fact, like he didn’t just change everything in three words.

 _You know why_.

Her heart is pounding in her chest, and Sam swallows, re-reading the short letter. It’s typical Jack O’Neill: short, to-the-point, no wasted words. Nowhere does he even hint that he’s choosing to leave the Air Force because of _her_.

“Sir.” She shakes her head. “Jack. I don’t – I don’t know what to say.”

* * *

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“But so soon –”

“It’s not.” At her questioning look, he shrugs. “It’s not a quick decision. Been thinking about it for a few weeks now.”

Her eyes are wide. “Jack –”

“You’ve got a future here,” he points out, “and this way, your record stays clean. I was always closer to done than you, anyway. It was never ‘if.’ Just ‘when.’”

“But you could make general.”

“I don’t care.”

He doesn’t. He’s never been after it for the brass, and even if he was, there’s not a star in the world he’d ever want more than her.

For a long moment, Sam just looks back at the letter, but he knows she’s not seeing it. “When are you going to submit it?”

He shrugs. “Hammond said take a few days. So – in a few days, I guess.”

“But you’ve already decided.”

“I decided before I left your place this morning.”

Probably before then, if he’s being honest with himself. This was always going to be the endgame. He’s served his time, done what good he could. She’s still got lots of universe to save.

Her eyes are suspiciously bright as she looks up at him, letting the letter fall to the desk. Without a word, she reaches for his hand, twining her fingers through his. Because they’re on base, and there are surveillance cameras, of course. This is all they can do. For now.

But now there’s a future in sight, the future he’s come to realize he wants more than anything.

Her lab is industrial and metallic and the fluorescent lights are harsh, but as far as Jack’s concerned right now, with her hand warm and soft in his, it’s the most romantic place on Earth.

Or any other planet.


	18. team night 2

They agree: until it’s official, until it’s legitimate, they play it safe.

As much as Jack doesn’t like the idea of keeping his hands off her, he understands. He’s leaving the Air Force for her; they waited a long time, and they can wait a little longer to tumble back into bed. It’ll be better for both of them.

So they behave themselves.

If his gaze on her lingers a little too long, or her fingers brush lightly against his when she hands him a piece of paper, no one seems to notice.

* * *

The evening after Jack hands his official letter in to the general, he invites SG-1 over for steak, beer, and an announcement he’s not exactly sure how to make.

Sam shows up early to help set up. She’s more on edge about it than he is, and she’s cute when she’s nervous. She re-sets the plates and silverware and fusses with napkins and grilling implements until he puts his hands on her shoulders, sits her down in a chair on the deck, and tells her to relax.

“Are they going to hate us?” she asks, staring at the beer he hands her.

Jack leans back against the deck railing. “Why?”

“Because we’re breaking up SG-1.” It’s the first time either one of them has admitted it so bluntly, and he has to stop himself from flinching. “For just us.”

He’s avoided thinking about it like that, but she has a point. They _are_ breaking up the team. And it’s not like they took an internal poll before going to bed together.

“I don’t know.” He meets her eyes. “I hope not.”

* * *

By the time Jack gets the charcoal smoldering and tosses in wood chips, Sam starts work on the salad in the kitchen. He passes her his half-empty beer, and she takes a sip. “Salad’s almost done.”

“Looks good.” He watches her work for moment. “Do you remember that time you tried to jump me in the locker room?”

Sam stops short, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “I – what?”

“When we all got that caveman virus, remember? – and you wore that little tank top thing?”

He _would_ focus on that. Sam huffs. “Yeah, I remember. Why?”

He shrugs. “Just thinking. Kind of good to know my irresistible charms worked on you even then.”

Sam rolls her eyes. “Right. The alien virus had nothing to do with it. I just couldn’t control myself around you.”

“Damn straight.” Jack grins at her, his eyes sparkling. “Hey, it was flattering. Beautiful woman walks up and tackles me? I’ve had worse days at work.”

She hands his beer back to him. “You know I got stabbed, right?”

“So your day was slightly worse.”

“Just slightly.”

“That’s fair.” He sets the bottle on the counter. “Still. If I’m being honest, that whole thing – kinda hot. I thought about it after that. More than a few times.”

“Really?”

“Come on.” He fixes her with a lazy, lopsided grin. “Can you really say you never thought about it?”

She blushes furiously. She _does_ remember waking up from a dream once, so vivid that she spent the day dodging his glances for fear he’d guess why she couldn’t stop looking at his hands.

He knows how to read her hesitation. His eyes darken, and his grin is starting to look deliciously predatory. “Ah. You _did_.”

“Maybe.”

He leans into her space, his gaze drifting down to her lips, and she leans back against the counter, trying to remind herself why they need to stop. “Sir –”

“You should know that actually _really_ does it for me,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly. “In a very specific way.”

“ _Jack_.” Her tone is warning, although it’s more for herself than for him. _Get it together, Sam_.

“So just how determined are you that we don’t –”

“We agreed,” she breathes, hoping she sounds more assertive than she feels. “We _agreed_. Not until it’s official.”

“Fine, fine.” He gets that smug look again, his eyes roving up and down her body. “Just gives me more time to decide exactly what I’m going to do to you first.”

Heat flushes through her body and Sam bites her lip, trying to ignore the way his eyes focus on her mouth. Because she knows _exactly_ how creative he is.

And he likes to take his time.

 “Go.” She pushes him out onto the deck. “Let me finish up in here.”

“ _I_ could finish you-”

“Get _out._ ” She throws the dishtowel at him and shuts the screen door.

* * *

After dinner, as SG-1 sits around the bonfire with beer, Jack fixes Sam with a look, and she nods slightly, swallowing hard.

 _Okay. This is it_.

“So, uh – I wanted to tell you guys first.” She’s impressed. His voice sounds remarkably even, and Daniel and Teal’C look up with only mild curiosity. “Ah – wow, this is weird. I handed in my letter to Hammond. I’m officially retiring.”

For a long moment, it’s quiet, just the crackling of the fire and the soft breeze and crickets. Sam wraps her hands around her bottle, if only to keep them steady.

Daniel recovers first. “Wow.”

“Congratulations, O’Neill.” Teal’C nods. “You have earned this.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

So far, the guys are taking it well enough. Jack takes a long breath, glances at Sam, and looks back at the deck. “And I, uh –”

He trails off and looks back at Sam for help. Panic floods her chest. _What do you want me to say?_

But this is both of their secret, after all. She can try.

“We -” She falters. Is there a non-awkward way to phrase this? “We’ve – decided – to pursue a personal relationship.”

Okay. Not so bad. Safety in official terms. She sees Jack’s posture relax just a fraction.

“I do not understand,” Teal’C says, his brow furrowed. “Do we not all have personal relationships?”

“I think she means a romantic one,” Daniel replies, then turns to Sam. “Wait. You – do mean romantic, right?”

“Yes.”

It’s out. It’s finally out. They’ve finally told someone.

It’s real.

There’s a long silence – Sam steadfastly refuses to meet Jack’s eyes – and finally, Teal’C breaks it.

“I believe, Daniel Jackson, they have already begun this pursuit.”

Sam freezes, her heart in her throat as Daniel blinks, looking back and forth between them. Her face gets hot in spite of herself.

“You have.” Daniel’s voice is careful. Wondering. Not really a question, but still giving them an out.

She steals a look at the colonel and finds him watching her, his face cautious, his eyes dark. He’s waiting for her acquiescence – after all, she’s still on SG-1. _You okay with this?_

But they deserve the whole truth.

“He’s right.” She can’t lie to them. SG-1 is family. “We haven’t told anyone.”

She can see Daniel fitting the story together in his mind. He knows the basics of what happened: he saw her get distant and tense while Jack was on Edora. He knows enough about what happened when their armbands failed.

And Teal’C was in the room when they confessed to the feelings they were never supposed to have.

“Wow.” Daniel sits back in his chair, nodding slowly. “Okay. Wow.”

He doesn’t look angry, though. He just looks stunned. Teal’C just…looks like Teal’C. She has the nagging feeling it’s much less of a surprise to him than they’d thought.

Sam glances over at Jack, who’s watching her. He doesn’t say anything, but she can hear his thoughts, as clearly as if they were uttered aloud.

 _I think we might be okay_.

* * *

Daniel and Teal’C had brought fixings for s’mores, and after the bombshell Sam and Jack have dropped on the evening, Sam offers to help Daniel set things out in the kitchen.

“So.” She’s been waiting for it, and Daniel doesn’t disappoint as he digs through a grocery bag for graham crackers, looking up at her over his glasses. “You and Jack?”

“Yeah.” Anxiety creeps into her chest again. She can’t help the faint, hovering sense of guilt. “Were you surprised?”

He cocks his head. “Uh – yes and no. I mean, I honestly didn’t realize you two were already – you know.”

She smiles faintly. “We weren’t planning on it. It just – kind of – happened.”

“Sure.” Daniel folds his arms, regarding her with a wry smile. “But we’ve seen two other realities, and you and Jack were together in both of them.” He shrugs. “I think a part of me has always been waiting for it, you know?”

“You’re not angry, though? – about – the team?”

“No.” He smiles sadly. “Don’t get me wrong – I’ll miss it. The four of us are great. You guys are my best friends. No one gives me crap about things like Jack. But I know why he’s doing it.”

“Really?”

He nods. “If he feels about you the way I felt about Sha’re? I get it. If you gave me the choice today – I mean, I love you guys. I really do. But I would still give up SG-1 for her.”

The wistfulness in his voice catches her off-guard. His eyes are faraway, and despite the softness in his words, Sam still hears the thread of sorrow.

She leans over and wraps her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. “I’m sorry, Daniel.”

“It’s okay.” He pats her shoulder. “Honestly, Sam. I’m happy for you guys.”

* * *

It’s late by the time Daniel yawns and eyes his watch. “Ah, we should get going, Teal’C.”

Sam follows them down the hallway, reaching for her keys, and Daniel cocks an eyebrow. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah.” She looks back at Jack, who looks faintly amused. SG-1 all know way too much about each other. “Uh – till it’s official.”

Daniel and Teal’C look at each other, doubtless wondering why they’re bothering since they’ve obviously already slept together. Sam holds her breath, but they don’t comment, just grab their jackets.

Sam turns back to find the colonel lingering just a little too close, leaning against the doorway behind her. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” He smiles down at her, his eyes warm. “Have a good night.”

She twists her hands together. “You too.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, you guys, just kiss,” Daniel mutters. “This is ridiculous.”

She scowls at him, but starts as she feels the sudden warmth of Jack’s hand on her arm.

“You heard the man.” Jack tugs her wrist, pulling her closer. “We’re under orders, Major.”

Her eyes flutter shut as she feels his hands come to her face, and before she can do more than breathe, he kisses her. It’s not what she expected – it’s soft, tender, slow and careful and so utterly overwhelming that she catches her breath.

It’s _loving_.

He steals one more kiss, two more, and finally lets her go, pressing his forehead gently against hers. “Good night, Sam.”

“Good night, Jack.”

“You guys are disgusting.” Daniel shakes his head. “See you tomorrow.”


	19. and then

_Some things fall where they're meant to fall_   
_And you can see everything_

Snow Patrol

* * *

 

Jack tells Hammond that under no circumstances is there to be a retirement party. Naturally, Hammond ignores him.

It’s fine, though. The general knows him too well to rent a ballroom and force everyone into dress blues for speeches and champagne. It’s a barbecue at Hammond’s house, and there are burgers and wings and hot dogs and plenty of beer.

And cake, so Jack decides not to hold it against him.

It feels strange to be the guest of honor. This certainly isn’t the first time he’s retired, but it’s the first time anyone’s made an event of it. He gets about a thousand handshakes from what seems like everyone who works at Cheyenne Mountain.

Cassie gives him a card she drew herself, and Jack pulls her into a tight hug, his throat aching. All of SG-1 love her like she’s one of their own, and – and after Charlie – the fact that they could help one child, save one little person and give her the chance to grow up and make her own life in the world?

Nothing will ever change the past, but at least they got this one thing right.

* * *

A rowdy bunch from SG-9 start hollering for him to make a speech, and Sam smiles into her bottle of beer. He doesn’t really do speeches. Well, he could. He just usually chooses not to.

_Normally, I am a man of few words…_

Jack has his own Guinness in one hand, and he looks around the crowd. When his eyes catch hers, he pauses, and for a moment she holds her breath. It’s always the same, isn’t it? No matter where they are, he can make her feel like there’s no one but the two of them.

“You know I’m not much for speechmaking,” he warns them, earning a laugh from the crowd. “I leave that to other folks.

“But – for whatever it’s worth” – he shrugs – “these past few years working with you – I can’t imagine a better place to be. When I came here, I needed meaning in my life. And – that’s what I found. In a lot of ways. I –”

His voice breaks, and he stops, looking down like he’s found something. Like he’s stopping himself from saying too much.

“You all have my greatest respect,” he says finally. “So here’s to you. Keep giving ‘em hell.”

He tips up his beer to cheers from the crowd, and Sam raises her own in silent salute.

* * *

At the party, Carter had hung back, chatting with Janet and Daniel for a long time. Only as she was about to leave did she pull Jack aside and quietly ask if he wanted to come over whenever he was done here.

So he finally escapes the festivities, hops into his truck, and drives to her place. The sun is setting, casting colors across the sky, and he’s never felt quite so alive.

He walks up to her front door and rings the doorbell. Nothing. Knocks. Nothing.

“Carter?”

“It’s open,” he hears her call from inside.

Jack shuts the door behind him, kicking off his shoes on the mat beside it, and turns. He doesn’t see her. “You _are_ still here, right?”

She laughs at that, her voice floating down the hallway. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right there.”

He hears footsteps, and turns. “What do you – _oh_.”

Jack blinks.

She’s leaning against the doorway of her bedroom, wearing something black and soft and lacy and _just_ see-through enough that he’s on his feet before he can do much more than gape.

“Well, sir?”

Her soft, teasing voice sends his blood pooling south even faster.

“You know I’m retired, right?”

His voice sounds less casual than he means it to be, but it doesn’t seem to matter.

“I heard.”

“Uh-huh.” His feet are moving as if of their own volition, because he doesn’t know why he’s not _touching_ her yet and if she keeps looking at him like that –

“But I’m pretty sure you like it when I call you _sir_.”

Oh, he likes it. He really, really likes it. Jack pauses, rocking back on his heels before letting himself grab her and turn into some kind of caveman, because he’s fairly sure this is supposed to be romantic or meaningful or profound or at least _something_ other than what his lower extremities are demanding at the moment.

But Carter – _Sam_ , he supposes, since there’s no need to keep up pretense – Sam surprises him. She reaches out, drags one hand over his chest, before she starts on his shirt. First one button. Then the next.

In retrospect, Jack’s not sure how he’s lived an entire month without letting Samantha Carter take his clothes off.

“You enjoying this?”

Her eyes get darker, her lips parting, and oh yeah, he knows this is what she was hoping to get out of him.

“Maybe.”

* * *

He’s gone from bewildered, to delighted, to hungry in the space of a moment, and Sam feels heat creeping through her skin at the wolfish look in his eyes.

Oh, yeah. He knows.

“What was that, Major?”

The low, gravelly voice, the stern tone –

She swallows, watching his gaze drop to her lips.

“Yes, sir.”

He walks her back, until her back hits the door, and she closes her eyes in anticipation, but it’s not what she expects.

When he touches her, it’s slow. Careful. Like he’s trying to make each second last forever. He kisses her cheek, her jaw, kisses her throat, flicks his tongue over the delicate flutter of her pulse point, until her hands are clutching weakly at his arms.

She’d planned to get him riled up, get him on edge, get him all hot and bothered until he lost control and ravaged her until she couldn’t walk, but this is different. It’s methodical and painstaking and so utterly _loving_ that she can’t breathe.

He kisses her mouth tenderly, coaxing her lips open, tracing his tongue over hers, and she buries her fingers in his hair, smiling as he groans into the kiss. He presses his hips into hers instinctively, the length of his erection straining against his jeans.

She unbuckles his belt and slides it out, tossing it aside, laughing as she catches a glimpse of them in her mirror. Her in her _we’re-allowed-to-do-this-now_ lingerie, him fully dressed except for his shoes.

“What?”

“You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“Huh.” He pulls her in front of him, studying the reflection in the mirror. Sam bites her lip. She’s already flushed, her hair tousled from his wandering hands. The lace shows more than it covers, her nipples clearly outlined against the fabric, and the press of his groin hot against her makes the wet, aching heat between her legs unbearable. “I don’t know. You’re still wearing this delicious little number.”

He rolls his thumb over one of her nipples, and she gasps at the sudden rough pressure that sends a twinge of pleasure straight to her clit. “You want me to take it off?”

“Oh, hell no.” His eyes are dark, molten. “I’ll take it off you when I’m good and ready.”

He slides one hand between her legs, tugging aside the scrap of black lace, and she shudders, gasping as he just barely brushes over her clit, teasing her with just enough pressure to make her want more. All her plotting is out the window, because he’s in control and he’s obviously decided that tonight is about taking his time and working her up so slowly that she loses all coherent thought.

He finally, _finally_ walks her back to the bed, laying her back down, pausing to strip off his shirt before he settles between her legs. She grabs blindly at the pillow as he trails a slow, delicate line of kisses up the inside of her thigh, and then his mouth is on her and everything goes white.

* * *

In the end, she’s sprawled out beside him, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, one arm over her head.

By the time she turns to look at him, Jack’s still trying to catch his breath. Her face is flushed, a beautiful deep pink peppered down her collarbone, over her chest, down to her breasts.

He clears his throat, trying to steady his voice. “So do you have any vacation time coming up?”

* * *

_three months later  
Silver Creek, MN_

Jack wakes to find the other side of the bed empty.

After throwing on clothes and splashing water on his face, he opens the back door and steps out into the morning.

She’s sitting on one of the chairs on the dock, feet tucked underneath her, a steaming mug of coffee in her hands.

As simple as the sight is, it floors him. Warmth floods his chest like it’s spilling through his body. He’s a total sap, but he doesn’t care.

She turns at the sound of his footsteps, smiling as he joins her on the dock.

“You know you don’t have to wake up early, right?” He runs his hands over her shoulders, leaning in to kiss her cheek as she chuckles. “You can sleep in. It’s okay. It’s encouraged, even.”

“Habit.” She shrugs. “My body clock is up, so I’m up.”

Jack sighs noisily. “The first step to quitting…”

“As if you don’t get up early to fish,” she scoffs.

“That’s why I picked a fish-free pond. I get to sleep in.”

Jack settles in his own chair beside her. Mist hovers over the water. It’s a view he’s been seeing his whole life, but the way she’s looking at it with wide eyes, it feels totally new.

“There was a part of me that thought we’d never get here,” she finally says.

“Minnesota?”

She shoots him a baleful look. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” He does know. He used to push it away when it was too real. But the darker part of his psyche never really believed that this particular fantasy would become reality. It was always too easy to imagine one stray bullet, one zat fired too quickly, one ribbon device too close to wiping it all away forever.

It’s not just the sex. Although that’s incredible (and as far as he can tell, it just keeps getting better, until he’s fairly sure one day he’s just going to die because the human body can only take so much physical enjoyment before it ceases to function).

It’s waking up to find she’s stolen the covers, then dragging her over to his side of the bed, murmuring grumpily about blanket thieves. It’s watching her doze off, book still in hand.

It’s sitting on the couch, watching _The Simpsons_ , and turning to find one of the most brilliant people he’s ever met wearing his old UFF DA sweatshirt, frowning at her laptop.

There’s an ache in his chest, the kind of ache he hasn’t felt in years, and when he looks at her, the sun lighting up her soft hair, shadows of leaves dappled over her skin, there’s a moment when he can’t help but think, maybe, somehow, somewhere, he must have done _something_ right.

“So what are we doing today?” she asks finally, her eyes still out over the water. “Pretending to fish?”

Jack shrugs. “Maybe. Hadn’t really thought about it.”

“It’s kind of nice not to be on a deadline,” she murmurs. “I could get used to this.”

“Exactly.” He grins at her. “We have all the time in the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's stuck with this story. I truly appreciate it.


End file.
